A River of Jade
by GreenMystery
Summary: As Connor struggles to heal in the aftermath of his final battle, he finds that daily life still holds unforeseen adventure - and companionship - to be discovered in the long journey ahead.
1. Chapter 1 - Old Wounds

Chapter 1 – Old Wounds

1784

There were days that the old wound in his side did not pain him, and Connor could go about his regular tasks at the manor with relative ease. This was not one of those days.

As he swung the axe toward the log on the chopping block, the injured muscle pulled sharply in protest, stealing the power from his swing and forcing a grunt from him. The axe head missed the log he was trying to chop, lodging itself in the tree stump, instead. Trying to pull the tool from the wood, he felt his side threaten to spasm again. Sometimes he would stubbornly try to work through his body's protests, but he decided this was not one of those days, either. The chopping wasn't going anywhere soon, anyways.

Wincing, Connor stood up and gingerly tried to stretch out his body while surveying his surroundings. Tall weeds, small shrubs, and sprouting saplings dotted the cleared area around Davenport Manor. Landscaping and grounds maintenance had not been a priority during these past several months of recuperation. Although sometimes Warren came over to help clear the yard, the wild forest was slowly trying to reclaim the settled land, as it had always done. Hack it down, push it back, but it always returned in the end. Who was that more emblematic of: the Assassins or the Templars? He pushed the thought from his head. Such questions were useless, and wasted time and energy better spent on other matters.

Yet, as he walked back to the house, he couldn't keep himself from mulling over familiar pains and frustrations that had plagued him. There were no more missions to distract him, and no Achilles to lend sage and sarcastic advice. This was the end of the road. The Templars were gone, but so were his people. Those he had worked to protect, _who he had murdered his own father for,_ had turned on him. And, all he had to show for it, all he had left after years of training, effort, and sacrifice was a crippled body that could barely chop wood.

Stomping inside in frustration, he paused just inside the doorway. No, that wasn't fair. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to push away the bitterness he felt. They were still alive, his people, and for that he should be thankful. They had moved, but survived and would continue to do so. Most of them anyways. A sharp lance of pain and guilt lashed through him, as he remembered Kanen'tό:kon, and the blood that still stained his hands. This could never be made right, not even if he killed Charles Lee a thousand times over. The problem was he wasn't sure who hated more. Charles Lee? Or himself? Lee may have been the one to deceive his friend, but Connor had been the one to slit his throat. He could never forgive himself for that. Moreover, did he truly want to?

For the first time in years, life was peaceful.

And, for the first time in years, he felt completely and utterly alone.

He was alone, and as much as he hated to admit it, he missed being an Assassin. At least when he was wearing the robes, he had a clear purpose for his existence. He missed that. However, during that time, he had never given much thought to what he would do once he had accomplished his goal. It had already been six months since he had finally taken down his wall of revenge and burned it all. At some point, he would have to move on…but to what? His tribe was gone. The homestead also felt less and less like home, even though he had helped build it to what it was today. It wasn't a question of whether or not they accepted him as part of their life. The residents there held nothing but respect for everything Connor had done for them over the years, and he had come to regard them as trusted friends. However, while they all had worked to start families, he had spent years tearing others apart. Even Templars had loved ones, many probably innocent, who thanks to him had probably been left behind to fend for themselves. The disconnect between the homesteaders' experiences and how they viewed life were something he didn't know how to reconcile. His heritage was something he felt more and more at odds with, each passing day. Colonists saw his features, the color of his skin, and declared him one of the "native." Yet, having failed his people, he felt even less now like a Kanien'kehá:ka than when he was a small child, chased and tormented by other children in his village calling him, "half-breed."

Not Assassin, not colonial, not Kanien'kehá:ka. What was he?

Connor marched upstairs stripping off his sweaty work clothes on the way. Feeling sorry for oneself never got anything accomplished. If he couldn't do any house work today, he was at least going to get some of his furs to market in Boston. Splashing his face with water, he scrubbed his neck and torso with a damp towel before changing into more town appropriate clothing.

A few hours later, he was winding his way through the city streets making his way to one of the trading posts on the South Side. It was still cool, but spring was starting to warm enough to bring more people outside to enjoy it. Outside a nearby tavern, he heard an angry shout. "YOU!" the voiced snarled. Connor instinctively reached for his tomahawk, just in case "you" meant him. However, the man who had started the commotion was scowling accusingly at his tablemate, "I buy you a round, and this is how you repay me?"

"Wot are ye goin' on about now?" the other man drawled.

The first man had greasy brown hair drawn back into a ponytail, and the look of a man who enjoyed picking fights. His red-headed companion did not appear much better, with a criss-cross of scars running the length of his forearms. Both had had just enough drink to be trouble, but not enough to be easily subdued. "You know what! Give me back my coin purse!" the first man shouted back.

"I ain't got yer damn purse, ye dumb git! I've been right here with ye the whole time! 'Ow would I have got it from ye?" the second man countered.

"Exactly! You'se is the only one who was with me this whole time. It had to have been you!" he reasoned.

"Fock off, mate! It weren't me, and ye've 'ad too much t' drink. Go walk it off," the second man waved his hand in dismissal.

"Oh, I'll fuck something up alright," the first man growled, while drawing a knife.

Connor groaned. He would have been happy to let the two men brawl out their disagreements on their own inside the tavern. But outside, the appearance of the knife was a threat to innocent passersby if their 'friendly disagreement' got out of control. Much to his own chagrin, the internal battle of whether to intervene or pass by quietly unfortunately did not last very long, and he found himself changing direction. Pulling his horse up to the tavern, Connor dismounted just in time for the man with the knife to lunge at his comrade. The other man threw his chair down in front of himself between the two, and swore, fumbling for his own knife. Before the first man had a chance to react, Connor came up behind him, grabbing his knife hand and twisting it sharply to the side. The man dropped the knife with a yelp and Connor quickly kicked it into the alleyway to the right of the tavern. "Who the fu-HURK!" gasped the man as Connor used his right hand to twist the man's arm behind his back, while throwing his left arm across the front of the man's neck in a warning chokehold.

"Sir, you should learn to have better table manners," he calmly stated to the struggling man in front of him.

"Hey! Get yer 'ands off me mate!" the second man cried, right before slugging Connor directly on his old wound.

Connor sank to his knees as his vision narrowed to a pinprick of light, wondering dully what kind of bizarre friendships involved knife fights, and if his injury could possibly have reopened from the impact. It certainly felt like it. Through blurred vision, he saw the man he had been holding wheel around to advance on him. Just as the man was about to attack, he suddenly jerked to the side. "AAH! What in the blazes?!" the freed man yelled. Spewing a coarse string of obscenities, he clutched the back of his head.

A small rock about two inches long tumbled to the ground just in front of Connor's kneeling form. The freed man wheeled around, looking to see where the rock had come from. "'AY!" his compatriot cried, clutching the side of his face.

Another rock tumbled to the ground to join the first. "Who the bloody devil is raining rocks on us?" the second man demanded.

A peal of giggles erupted from the rooftop to the right of the tavern. The assailants turned and looked up to see a few young boys with the faces of cherubs, and the laughter of devils begin pelting them with pebbles and small rocks. A larger stray rock glanced off Connor's shoulder, and hit him in the cheek. He winced. His small saviors could stand to work on their aim. "Why you little beggars! This is the last time you fuck with me! When I get my hands on you, I'm going to pull your insides right out your ass!"

In the midst of all the confusion, Connor felt strong hands reach under him and hoist him to his feet, dragging him away from the men while they were distracted. These same hands half-helped, half-threw Connor's body over his saddle, before slapping the horse's rump. The angry men turned around with a furious shout, just as the horse, already antsy from the brawl, took off. His vision still blurry, Connor couldn't get a clear look at who had been holding him, but managed to make out the form of another young boy with dark, shaggy hair in a grey cloak darting back down the right alleyway next to the tavern. The sounds of the ruckus faded as the horse galloped away, the motion causing the saddle horn to jostle his side painfully with each gait from where he lay across the horse's back.

Well, that had certainly escalated quickly. Connor fumbled blindly for the reins while trying to keep himself from falling off the saddle. The horse continued its speedy gallop down the main road, pedestrians fleeing from its path to avoid being trampled.

Ah yes, Connor thought to himself, the exciting life of the retired Master Assassin. There really is nothing like the exhilarating rush of riding ass-first through Boston in the middle of a fine spring day, after being saved from drunkards by children. He finally managed to get a secure grip on the reins, forcing the horse to a dead stop before sliding off the saddle, and sprawling unceremoniously in the dirt. It took a minute for his vision to clear. People were staring. Perhaps, it would be best to walk his horse to one of the trading posts on the other side of town, then take a different route out when he was done…

Some time later, a very tired, very sore, and very grumpy Connor limped into the General Store on the North side of Boston. "Good afternoon!" the shopkeeper greeted. "How can I help- goodness, Master Connor! What on earth happened to you?" she inquired, as she took in his disheveled state.

"Good afternoon, Miss Smith," Connor greeted, placing his bundle of furs on the counter, "I am sorry if my appearance is…unexpected, but I would rather not explain right now. If it is alright, I have goods for trade, then will be on my way."

"Tsk, tsk, always the staunch businessman," Miss Smith tutted, as she untied the bundle he had placed on the counter. Miss Smith was a short, cheerful woman with plump rosy cheeks. The daughter of the owner, she was a sharp business dealer, and formidable in how she ran a shop. "And how many furs do you have for me today?" she asked, as she began spreading the merchandise onto the counter to examine their quality.

"Fox, beaver, hare and raccoon, ten of each," Connor quantified.

The shopkeeper's brow furrowed in response, "I'm sorry Connor, but I think you're mistaken." Connor's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Not that I'm calling you a liar, mind you, or think that you're trying to pull one over on me, but you're a couple short. Perhaps you miscounted?" she replied.

"I do not understand," Connor truly did not, "what do you mean?"

"I mean you've only got nine of beaver and raccoon skins here. See for yourself," she gestured to the piles on the counter.

Connor stepped forward and counted each of the piles himself. Indeed, there were only nine each of beaver and raccoon skins. "My mistake," he said, confused, "It has been a long day. I must have miscounted, as you said."

Miss Smith chuckled, "Oh that's fine, dear. Happens all the time! I'm sure it's quite understandable, in your case. And, from the looks of things, I'd say miscounting is the least of your concerns, right now."

Connor blushed as she counted out the total sales to pay him. Before settling out the exchange, he picked out a few items requested by the Homestead residents: a couple spools of ribbons for Ellen, some herbs and a tonic for Dr. Lyle, gunpowder for Norris. Miss Smith packaged the items for him, and paid the remaining balance to him in cash. Even if they were a bit higher than the other store he had originally planned to stop by, the prices at this establishment were fair, so he did not usually bother haggling – a small blessing in light of the day's events. He thanked her for her help and went on his way.

As he saddled the horse with his new supplies outside, Connor felt the strange sensation of someone watching him. Fearing the tavern men from earlier might have found him, he did a quick scan of the area, and contemplated using his Other Sight to view his surroundings. He quickly dismissed that idea, since he was already tired, and using that vision was a bit draining. Mounting his horse, he decided to keep his guard up, just in case, riding away from the edge of town into the forest.

Today had been a rough day.


	2. Chapter 2 - Followed

Chapter 2 – Followed

On the way back to Davenport, Connor couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being watched. He kept scanning, but still saw no other travelers besides himself on the road. At one point, he stopped in order to switch vision, just to see if there was anything that would show up to his enhanced eye. He focused and the environment around him shifted colors into dark contrast.

Nothing.

Frustrated, Connor decided to take the long way back home, just in case. It would add a couple hours to his journey – the terrain was more uneven, and he couldn't ride as fast in his current condition – but he was in no hurry to return to the failure of his chopping block. Also, this way he might be able to do some hunting to make up for his missing skins. He was certain he had counted them correctly back at the manor, and was unsure where the mistake could have occurred. Veering from the main path, he rode a ways before stopping to secure his horse, so he could hunt some small game. The pain throbbing in his side reminded him why he was taking the long way home, so he decided to do a quick assessment of any possible damage. He stripped off his coat and shirt, laying them atop the horse's saddled and checked his scar. It had not reopened like the pain had indicated, but the area was extremely tender to the touch, with any excessive probing caused him to wince. Probably best to leave it alone for the time being.

Connor walked some distance from the horse, climbed a large tree, and took the bow from his shoulders. There was something soothing about hunting that always relaxed him. During a hunt, the noise of the world fell away, and everything in front of him always became much simpler and focused – the draw and bend of the bow, the shift of the winds, the sounds and movements of the forest creatures. Life and Death. Knocking an arrow to the string, and drawing it to his cheek, today he would be a harbinger for the latter.

Three rabbits went down before Connor decided to stop. Taking note of the arrows marking the kills, he descended from the tree to collect his bounty. The first two rabbits were easy enough to find, and Connor collected them to take back. However, the third one was nowhere to be found. He surveyed the area, wondering if he had missed the spot mentally marked from his hunting vantage point. At the edge of his vision, something caught his eye. There in the edge of the brush was his arrow, sticking out of the ground. Could he have missed the rabbit? Perhaps he only thought he'd shot it as it tried to escape into the bushes. No, he thought, as he pulled the arrow from the ground. There was still blood on the shaft next to the arrowhead. An unsettled feeling crept over Connor as he knelt there, studying the arrow. Someone was following him, and that someone _was very close by._ Torn, he didn't know what to do. Continuing on his current path would lead this follower back to the homestead, and he did not want to expose the residents there to a potential unknown threat. At the same time, neither did he wish to waste time doubling back to Boston just to shake off a tail. Perhaps another tact was needed. He stood up.

"Hello?" Connor called into the forest, "Who is out there?" His query was met with silence. "I know you are following me, and I do not wish to harm you, but it is not polite to steal another man's kill. I would only like to know why you have done so."

Turning slowly in a circle, Connor waited for a minute, before heading back to his horse. That unsettled feeling crept back up his spine as the horse came into view. He rummaged through his saddlebag, and confirmed his suspicions. Someone had been here, too – one of the spools of ribbon meant for Ellen was missing. He looked back into the forest, "The rabbit you may keep as a gift from the forest, but I do ask that you please return the ribbon. It was not meant for me, but another, and she will be very sad if she does not receive it."

It was time to make camp, then. He was not sure, but it was possible that more than one person might be following him. Until he knew further what was happening, Connor thought it best to remain where he was. He had not anticipated staying away from the Homestead overnight, so supplies were limited. But, the forest was where he had grown up, and easily held a bounty of wealth that could sustain him for as long as he liked. As it was, it was not as though he required much in the way of creature comforts – only food, fire, and sleep under the stars. Moving close to a nearby creek, Connor started a fire, and walked to the water's edge to set about skinning and cleaning the rabbit carcasses for dinner. The skins he quickly and carefully washed in the cold water. Nearby tree branches, still supple from their spring growth, were cut into long slender lengths and tied into hoops. The skins were then carefully stretched across across them to dry. These could be processed further when he returned to the Homestead, and later used or sold at market. The meat was spit-roasted for dinner.

The next morning, Connor awoke to a surprise. A third rabbit-skin hoop leaned against a tree, next to the two hoops he had prepared yesterday. He walked over to examine it. Overall, the construction was far cruder than the two he had made. The hoop was somewhat misshapen. The skin was roughly cut and a bit warped, with some fur missing around the edges. Plant stems and weeds tied everything loosely together instead of twine. The hoop reminded him of some of his first efforts at skinning as a child. He doubted it could be worked further while still retaining the fur, but the resulting leather could probably be used for something else. He picked it up to examine the craftsmanship further, and was surprised to find the missing spool of ribbon hiding underneath. Was someone playing with him? He turned around, unsure which the best direction to face was.

"Thank you for returning my items," he said loudly, "I greatly appreciate it." As an afterthought, he added, "And I hope you enjoyed the rabbit. Your work with the skin could use a little practice, but it was not bad for a first effort." He paused, "If you like, I could show you the proper way to do it."

It was as though he had made an invisible friend. The next few days were spent in a great deal of one-sided conversations. Connor would talk about the ways of the forest, the animals, and how to use them while still maintaining harmony. "It is important not to hunt too much in one area," he said one morning, while skinning another rabbit, "that is why I keep moving to different places – to keep balance with the surroundings."

He was also uncoincidentally moving steadily towards the Homestead, but did not feel the need to say that out loud just yet. While he did not know anything in the way of his follower's motives, he was learning more about this person's skills and personality. After explaining the process of properly cleaning and mounting a rabbit skin one evening, he woke up the next morning to find a much improved product added to the pile of hoops collecting by the tree. Another evening after shooting some quail, he laughed when the morning showed a large pile of feathers waiting for him. There really was no use in keeping the feathers, but Connor still thanked his follower out loud, not wanting to discourage this person from continuing to make contact with him. Other than the person's attempt at crafting, there was almost no sign of the person's existence. Once while hunting, Connor managed to find the covered remains of what had been a small campfire.

By the fifth day, Connor needed to make a choice. He could not continue stalling, which he was sure the follower had sensed he was doing by now. Either he could return to Boston and try to lose this person in the Underground Network, or he could return to Davenport and reveal where he lived. People should always be given a chance, he thought. That evening, Connor decided to take a gamble and stood up. "Thank you for the past few days. I have enjoyed my trip more than I would have thought possible, and I credit that to you. However, I do need to return to my home fairly soon, or some of my friends will be worried. You are welcome to come and stay in whatever manner you see fit, whether it inside or outside the house," he smiled. He paused for a moment, "I do ask only one thing from you. Please, give me your word that you will not steal from any of my friends. If you have need, help yourself to my stores. I'm sure we can come to a friendly arrangement during your stay, however long that may be."

Silence filled the air in response, but Connor was comfortable with it now. Laying the saddle blanket under his head, he fell asleep. In the morning, he looked towards the crafting pile. In the dirt under the tree was scrawled, "You have my word."

"Very well, then," Connor grinned, "It seems today we make for Davenport."


	3. Chapter 3 - Predators

Chapter 3 – Predators

"While I am grateful for the company, I have to admit it does not seem quite fair that I still do not know who you are, other than an avid eater of rabbit meat and crafter of rabbit skins," Connor said while his horse slowly made its way through the forest paths. "Although you still have a ways to go on that last one."

If silence could be made to narrow its eyes at him, Connor felt fairly certain that's what his follower would be doing right now. As it was, he thought he imagined a faint rustle behind him that was almost…indignant. Then again, it could have just been the faint breeze. He chuckled, "Don't worry. My first skins looked the same as yours. There is no complete success the first time, only the struggle to learn. But, you have made improvements since then. Perhaps you can continue to practice when we arrive at my home."

A clear rustle was his response.

Interesting. So they were communicating now? Still, there was the problem of what to do when they arrived back at the Homestead. How would Connor go about introducing an invisible friend to the other homesteaders? One rustle for yes, two rustles for no? Even he thought the whole story sounded like he had joined his previous attackers at the tavern for one too many bottles of rum. He sighed. Probably better not to say anything for a while. If his follower had gone through the trouble of remaining this well-concealed the whole time he'd been in the forest, then it's likely that publicity was not going to be very welcome. However, in a strange way, he admired this person. Never had he encountered someone who was able to hide from him this completely without a trace. Or for this long. That took either a considerable amount of skill, or a considerable amount of fear. Perhaps both.

Connor was so distracted by his train of thought that he didn't hear the vigorous warning rustles behind him until it was almost too late. Turning around, he saw the pack of wolves circle out of the brush and charge him. He must have accidentally wandered through their formation since wolves did not usually hunt horses for food. Just as the lead wolf caught up to him, Connor jumped from the saddle and stabbed it in the neck with his hidden blade. At the commotion, the horse reared with a whinny and bolted, abandoning him where he stood. Next time, he would remember take a less easily spooked horse when he rode to Boston. As the rest of the pack tried to swarm him, Connor scrambled up the nearest tree trunk to escape. One wolf managed to latch onto his boot, almost dragging him back down. He managed to kick his leg free, and continue his ascent into the branches of the tree.

Frustrated, the wolves circled below growling and snapping at their lost prey above them. Connor was not concerned until he saw the wolves disperse, right in the direction his horse had gone. He wasn't sure how far his horse had run, but he had to make sure that the wolves didn't harm it. Taking a quick look at the layout of the trees around him, he began leaping and swinging through the branches to catch up, his side aching in protest. Even if the horse had a head start, it was not as sure-footed on this uneven terrain. The more agile pack could easily catch up to it, if it didn't trip and take a tumble first. After a few minutes Connor caught up to the sound of howls and frantic neighs. The horse's free-flying reins had gotten tangled in some low hanging branches and stopped the horse's flight. Six wolves had surrounded the steed, and were taking turns trying to leap at it to bring it down. Connor's ribs and abdomen burned as he launched himself from the branches, and landed on the closest wolf blade first. It went down in silence, and did not stir. Two more wolves turned to face the new threat, while the rest continued their assault on the horse. Turning quickly to the side, Connor managed to dodge one wolf, before stabbing the other. The second wolf yelped in pain as the hidden blade sliced deep into its side. Soon after, it toppled to the ground. The first wolf twisted around and tried to make up for its missed attack, and was met with a strong kick to the snout. Connor felt teeth break under his boot, and the wolf yipped in pain, flying sideways into a tree. Dazed, it wobbled back to its feet, legs unsteady. A third yelp joined the chorus, and Connor looked up to see a knife embedded in the haunch of one of the wolves that had continued attacking the horse. The wolf whined in confusion, limping and circling away from the horse with its tail down. It bit and snapped at its hindquarters, managing to force the knife out in order to limp back into the woods in retreat. Now facing his horse, Connor stood tall and gave a loud, sharp cry, raising his tomahawk and dagger into the air. The two remaining wolves ceased their attack on the horse, and turned to reassess the threat of this strange human. Connor began to advance slowly, stopping at the dead wolf between them. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his foot on top of their fallen brother, and gave another shout. Growling, they backed away into the bushes, their dazed comrade following after. Connor maintained his position for a few tense minutes, listening to the sounds of the wolves as they ran away through the brush.

He really hoped there wasn't also a bear around.

The horse was still panicking, and Connor had to run over to quiet the beast. Untangling its reins, he forced the animal to stop jumping, and spoke soothing words to it in his native tongue. Finally, it stopped prancing. The danger now gone, Connor walked over to pick up the bloodied knife left in the dirt. Holding it up in the light, he recognized it as the same knife he had kicked away from the angry man at the tavern. Momentary panic rushed down his spine. It couldn't be the same man from previously, could it? Had the man been biding his time and merely toying with Connor in order to exact revenge, after all? No, that seemed highly unlikely. These woods were not known for the abundance and quality of their rum. Then again, neither was that tavern. But, who _exactly_ had been following him this whole time? He cleared his throat and held up the knife, "Excuse me, but I believe you dropped this. Would you like it back?"

A long silence followed. Connor began to feel awkward just standing there holding a knife into empty space. Perhaps nearly being eaten by wolves did not merit a first meeting to his follower. He leaned over and began cleaning the knife off in the grass. Just as he was about to give up waiting and move on, he heard another rustle, this time from very close by. And above him. He looked up in surprise.

A small figure leaned out halfway from behind a tree trunk about twenty feet away, and peered down. Connor fumbled for words that would not startle his guest, nor come off as too aggressive. "Hello," he stammered, "you're in a tree."

Connor wanted to smack himself. It was quite clear his now visible friend was in a tree. Unfortunately, Achilles had never really schooled Connor on the formalities and protocols of how to properly introduce yourself to someone lurking in a tree. Then again, it didn't seem like this was something that would happen often among the white people. Even in the frontier land, they mostly preferred staying in their closed, square-shaped houses. And on the ground. After a long, awkward pause, his "guest" moved around the tree trunk and crept out onto a large branch closer to Connor, but was still mostly obscured by leaves and smaller branches.

Clearing his throat, he tried again, "Why are you in a tree?" Apparently, Achilles had never really schooled Connor in eloquent conversation, either. He hurriedly tried to think of typical things Colonials say in a first conversation, but his mind kept returning blank. This had been so much easier when he was only talking to himself like a crazy person.

The stranger crouching on the branch above gave Connor a slow blink, turned to give a pointed look at the dead wolves, then looked back at him while raising an eyebrow. His cheeks flushed. Right, that was the obvious answer, he supposed. Perhaps, not everyone went chasing after wolves in the woods. Flipping the blade over in his hand, he fidgeted and asked, "Would you like your knife back?"

Ducking lower into the leaves, the stranger seemed to ponder this question for a minute, finally dropping onto the ground below. He hadn't really known what to expect, but he had expected…bigger. His follower, revealed at last, only came up to about his chest. As the small figure stood up, Connor also couldn't help but feel there was something familiar about this person. "You are the boy I saw in the alley by the tavern," he realized. Connor was greeted by a smirk, in response. "I suppose that is where you got this, then," he mused. Flipping the knife over in his hand once more, Connor offered it forward handle first.

The boy did not move. His shaggy brown hair just was just long enough to cover his eyes, but he looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. With pinched cheeks and angular features, it was clear that part of his smallness was from being underfed. Yet, it was his attire that got Connor's attention. He wore a loose, dark blue, long-sleeved shirt. The shirt did not have buttons in the front, but rather the left side overlapped the right, over which he wore a long grey vest that came halfway to his knees. A black cloth belt was tied over both layers. His pants were also loose and the same grey color, coming down to the tops of his black cloth shoes. The overall outfit was very plain and unembellished, save for a small red flag of cloth that hung over the left side of his belt. He was not a local. At last, pushing the hair out of his eyes, he bowed his head and reached forward to take the knife from Connor's hand. Now able to take a better look at the boy's face, Connor noticed another important feature about the boy in front of him that he had missed earlier.

"You're a girl," he said, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. In response, the girl blinked, and cautiously lowered the knife in front of her, keeping a solid grip on the handle. Not breaking eye contact, the girl took a slow, deliberate step back and stood up straight, squaring her shoulders.

Much like how he had confronted the wolves earlier, Connor had learned very early never to show fear in the presence of a predator. In the wild, to do otherwise meant death. Prey was such by virtue of the fact that their actions were driven by fear to survive. This girl was no prey. Connor realized he had made a mistake in his earlier assessment of why this girl might have been hiding. There was no fear in her eyes. Whatever her life had been, it had taught her how to survive among predators – and to recognize Connor rightly as one. He raised his hands in a placating manner, taking a slow step back, as well, "I'm sorry if I offended you. I should not have called you a boy, but I do not usually encounter girls dressed in this manner." He thought for a moment, "Actually, I do not usually encounter anyone dressed in this manner."

The girl tilted her head at him then gave a pointed look over his white Assassin's coat, leather breeches and tomahawk, before arching her eyebrow at him once more. And once more, Connor felt the dunce. He nervously ran his hand over his tied-back Mohawk, realizing that probably wasn't helping the case for his appearance, either. "Yes, I suppose that's true," he answered her unvoiced statement. "My name is Connor. May I know yours?"

She looked up at the sky in thought for a moment, then back down to return his gaze. "You may call me Jade," she replied.


	4. Chapter 4 - Acquaintances

Chapter 4 – Acquaintances

"Jade," Connor repeated, "That is your name?"

"In a way," she replied. "Please, wait a moment."

With that she disappeared back into the brush. Connor waited in silence, checking over the horse again to make sure there were no serious injuries from the wolf attack. The mare had a few cuts, but nothing serious that would hamper the return journey. Should he go ahead and take the wolves back? He wasn't sure about the one with the side injury, but the first kill had been clean, and could make a good pelt. Walking over to where they lay, he went ahead and hoisted the bodies onto the back of the horse, which skittered about nervously surrounded by the scent of wolves. A few minutes later Jade reappeared on the branch above Connor, carrying a grey bundle tied with a rope that looped over her shoulder. "Alright," she said, "We can continue."

"Why are you in a tree, again?" he asked.

"A precaution," she retorted, before motioning towards his saddle, "Do you want the wolf you left behind?"

Connor sized up the wolves on the horse. They were lean, but large males, and fully grown. "No. While I do not wish to waste the life it has given, I also do not wish to over burden the horse. She has already been through a lot today and will need to rest for a few days after this. The wolf will return to the forest, as is its way." He turned back to face the girl, "Will you stay there, or join me down here? I do not believe the wolves will be returning, and there should not be another pack in this area."

Jade cautiously shimmied down the tree, and approached the wolf-laden horse with inquisitiveness. A few flies were already beginning to buzz around the eyes and mouths of the carcasses. She reached forward and touched a finger to one wolf's fangs, before running her hand down its neck, feeling the fur beneath her fingers. "Beautiful for something so dangerous," she stated, looking back at Connor's face, studying his features, "As many things are."

At her statement, Connor locked eyes with Jade and felt a strange heat creep up his neck. Did she appreciate his choice in weapons, then? He looked over to see the knife from earlier tucked into the right side of her belt. Surely, that is what she meant. At the very least, she certainly enjoyed "collecting" items. Perhaps, he should keep a close eye on his tomahawk for the next few days. He grabbed the reigns, and began to lead the horse through the woods back to the trail. Jade followed on the other side of the horse, her expression hidden from him, and the top of her head just barely visible to Connor over the wolves in the saddle. Together they walked in silence. Why did it feel so awkward now? Connor once again tried to think of things to fill the void. Perhaps, he should have let the girl stay in the trees. After some debate, he decided the direct approach was probably the best. "Why were you following me?"

"Curiosity," was her simple reply.

"Curiosity about what?" Conner inquired.

"You. You saw a fight that was not your own and interfered. Why do this?"

"They did not appear to be in a good state of mind, and could have harmed innocent people with their foolishness. If I have the power to right that which is wrong, then it is my responsibility to do so. It is my way."

"It is your way to be beaten by fools, rescued by children, and gain the attention of an entire city?" she quipped.

She is irritating, Connor thought. "That is not-!" Connor took a deep breath, "I did not think the events at the tavern would escalate so publicly."

"Ah. So, you are often beaten and rescued in private, then?"

Achilles would have liked her. Maybe conversation was a mistake. Connor could hear the amusement in Jade's voice, and glared at her mostly hidden form, "Five days she does not talk, and now she does not stop. I think I preferred you as a mute."

Jade stopped walking for a moment to consider this, "You know I am female, so there is no reason to hide my voice, anymore."

"Then why continue to hide the rest of you?" Connor pushed.

"…Because, that is _my_ way. As is this," she sighed, partially untying her bundle to rummage through its contents.

Connor looked back, reigning in the horse before it got too far ahead. As he did so, Jade removed a smaller rolled bundle from within the larger, and handed it to Connor without a word. As he unrolled them, recognition dawned on him, "The missing beaver and raccoon skins. How did you-…?" Connor trailed off mid-sentence, replaying the events from several days ago in his head.

Looking down at her feet, Jade apologized, "I am sorry for taking them, and for the trouble it caused. I had not seen their like before and was-"

"Curious," Connor finished her sentence, before continuing, "You are very skilled to have taken the furs without me noticing. You could not have had more than a minute to do so. If you were there, did you also happen to see who helped me onto my horse?" Jade looked up and nodded. "Who then," Connor asked. One corner of her mouth tugged upwards, betraying her otherwise expressionless face. Connor's eyebrows shot up. "You?" Connor exclaimed, reexamining the small girl in front of him, "You are much stronger than you look."

"And you are much heavier than you look," she smirked, "Maybe you should eat less rabbit."

"Maybe you should eat more," Connor parried, "When was the last time you ate before "borrowing" my rabbits?"

Jade smoothed all expression from her face, "A while ago."

"For someone so skilled at hiding and stealing, I would think you would have little difficulty finding food in the city," Connor mused.

"I do not steal," Jade scowled, "I may borrow for a time, but I do return in like kind in the end." She paused in thought for a moment, "If they deserve it. After all, I gave you back the skins and feathers of the animals you gave me. But, I do not only take. I work for money if it is available." She looked at her clothes and gestured at herself, "Often it is not."

That sentiment Connor could understand. "Then why are you so hungry for rabbit and quail?" he pressed.

The girl looked him in the eye, "Because, there are many mouths to feed."

She was speaking of the boys, he realized, "The rock throwers on the roof. What are they to you?"

"You ask many questions, strange man," Jade sighed, "Should we not be continuing our journey? The seasons will change before we return to you home." She began to continue walking past the horse, quickly stopping once she remembered she did not know where she was going.

It was Connor's turn to smirk. "Are you their leader? Why did they help me?" he continued, ignoring her impatience. Tugging the reins, Connor began walking ahead to the right side of the horse, with Jade taking up position on the opposite rear left. Even when revealed, she still did not stay so for long, Connor thought to himself.

"Leader? No. A teacher of sorts. They are young, and have much to learn if they are to survive. They helped you, because I felt responsible for your…predicament," Jade explained.

"Responsible?" Connor asked. A jingling noise prompted him to look back to his left. From over the saddle, he saw a small hand rise up behind the horse, waving a coin purse in the air. Connor laughed turning back to watch his footing, "So, it was you who stole the man's coin purse at the tavern, as well as his knife! Then, I have you to thank for the entirety of that day's bad luck and humiliation."

A pinecone flew out of the forest and smacked into the right side of Connor's face, startling him. Disembodied laughter floated out from the brush, "It was your fault for stumbling into something I already had under control."

Connor looked back around the horse, shocked to find Jade gone. How…? Trying to appear unfazed, he gruffed, "I suppose I also have you to thank for the boys' throwing lessons. Why are you hiding again?" He turned right, only to have another pinecone smack him in the forehead, "I grow impatient with your games."

Another pinecone hit him, this time from the left, followed by Jade's voice, "And I grow bored with your questions. A few days before, I watched the man attack a poor girl for her purse as she was passing an alley. She was just a young maid sent by her mistress to run errands. This was not right."

"And, yet, you did nothing but watch as you saw injustice happen before you?" Connor accused.

A fourth pinecone hit him on the back of the head. "Unlike you, I do not see the need to draw such direct attention to myself when there are other ways. While I did take your furs, I did not take the purse for myself, but to return it."

Connor walked into a small clearing, and found Jade sitting on a low hanging branch, legs dangling beneath her. She is both irritating, and fast, he thought. He crossed his arms, "Is that so?"

"Eventually," Jade smiled, "And with _most_ of its money still there." She flung one last pinecone at Connor, who caught it in his free hand. "I might have returned the purse by now. However, I got distracted when someone much more interesting stumbled along trying to play the failed hero." She jumped down and continued walking ahead of the horse, "The boys were watching to learn. I did not think they would become involved." A look of concern passed briefly over her face, "I hope they are ok."

Throughout their conversation Connor had been trying to place her exotic appearance and lilting accent. Of the many places he had traveled in the Aquila, she was too light to be from the Caribbean or another native tribe, but too dark to be a typical Colonial. And while at first her color seemed to match Connor's or a typical Spaniard's, she was much more golden yellow to Connor's honeyed brown, or a Spaniard's olive hues. Her shaggy hair was just a touch lighter than Connor's not-quite-black. "Where are you from?" Connor finally asked.

She opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. For the first time, Connor saw uncertainty cross Jade's face. "That is a question best left for another time," she replied as she trudged ahead. Suddenly, she stopped, just the slightest hint of fear edging into her voice, "Now, there is a more important question facing us."

Connor and the horse caught up to where she was standing at the edge of a wide river. Her eyes locked on the vast expanse of water before them, "How do we cross, if I can't swim?"


	5. Chapter 5 - Bridges

Chapter 5 – Bridges

"Can I ride the horse across?" Jade inquired hopefully.

Connor was stuck. Water and the ability to move through it had been around him his whole life. He had never really thought that there were people couldn't swim. Granted, he had knocked a fair number of soldiers into the water around the docks in Boston and New York, but he had also never stayed around very long afterwards. Those men had all turned out fine, hadn't they? "That would not be wise. With the wolves, and the supplies that it is carrying, there is no room for another to ride. Even if there was, at this depth, an accident might be worse for you and the horse than if you had both walked. I'm sorry," Connor apologized.

"If you care so much for the horse's wellbeing, perhaps you should carry one of the wolves and work off some of that rabbit weight. You are nearly the size of a horse yourself," Jade grumbled. "Why is there no bridge here? Did you and your horse also swim across before arriving in town several days ago?"

Connor gritted his teeth, "I do eat more than just rabbit. And, no, I came by a different way then, with a short bridge over a shallower creek. After you started following me, I decided to take a detour on the way home."

Jade looked pensively out at the swiftly moving river, "Was it your plan to drown me on your return home?"

He glared at her.

"Because, that plan still might work. After all your other failed endeavors, I'd hate to be another disappointment," Jade responded.

"While the river is not so shallow, it is also not so deep that you will need to swim. You must go slow, but it is walkable," Connor explained patiently.

Jade heaved an exasperated sigh, "You seem to forget not everyone is the size or weight of a mountain. Trying to cross here does not seem wise, either. Perhaps, we should continue along the river for a better place. Which direction is this bridge you crossed?" She climbed up on a nearby outcropping of rock to study the expanse of the river and banks further downstream. The body of water was quite broad, nearing about 200 feet across.

"There is no other place to cross for many hours on foot, and the horse cannot travel along the river in these parts. The bank is too steep, and the forest has no level path. I have done this many times. Please trust me when I say that there is no other easy way, but you will be safe," Connor insisted.

Pacing in circles, Jade groaned in frustration. Connor wondered what she was thinking. Did she really have no experience with water? Or, did she have a poor experience previously, and was now afraid? Maybe where she came from there was no water. Achilles had once told him of dry lands called deserts, but he had never witnessed these himself. How could a land have no water, or people who did not know how to swim in it?

Finally giving in, she stomped, "Augh! Fine! We will cross the river, even though I am fairly certain I will die. Know that my spirit will haunt you for this to your dying breath."

"That may be," Connor smiled, while securing his items higher on the horse's saddle, "but at least you will be small, and require less food."

"Wait," Jade said, turning to the horse. She removed the grey bundle from her shoulders. Turning it over nervously in her hands, she began to secure it to the top of the horse's head by tying it to the bridle straps. The horse tried to pull away in protest, but Jade held its bridle and reins fast in her grip until she was finished. Once free, the horse tossed its head a few times, adjusting to the new weight.

Connor looked on curiously. This was certainly something new. While the horse did not seem pleased, it also did not seem overly burdened. Whatever was in the bundle was very light. "What are you doing?" he inquired.

"I'm-" Jade hesitated, "I'm protecting all that I have left." She stood back and looked between the horse, and the river. "Alright, let's go, before I decide to take my chances with the wolves in the forest again."

Connor nodded his assent, before gently taking the reins of the horse. Leading the way, he began to walk the horse slowly into the moving water. "Here, walk upstream of the horse, with your hand on the saddle. If you lose your footing, the horse should stop you from being swept downstream," he tried to reassure Jade.

Jade tried but failed to keep her voice level. "Should?" she squealed.

The first few steps into the river were easy enough. The current was moving more swiftly than normal. Recent rains had swollen the banks, adding an extra chill as well as speed to the cool water. With each step, the pull of the current became increasingly insistent. After only a few feet, Connor had to slow his pace, in order to allow himself and the horse time to feel for secure footing on the slippery river bed. Seeming to sense trepidation from behind him, Connor asked without looking, "Are you doing well?"

"Oh, fine, just fine, really" Jade replied from behind the horse, her voice tight. The water level continued to climb. "Alright, I lied. I'm not fine. How far are we?"

"We are almost a quarter of the way there," Connor replied patiently, stepping carefully along the shifting rocks. The water was now at his waist, and he wondered if Jade was beginning to have any difficulty treading the river's depth.

Muffled noises from behind the horse indicated that she was. "A quarter?! What do-" whatever Jade had been about to say was immediately halted, and replaced by coughing and gasping.

Unable to see Jade's current predicament, Connor slowly crossed in front of the horse to find Jade desperately trying to find a handhold somewhere on the crowded saddle with little success. While the water only came to just below his chest, she was struggling to keep her head above the waves that were now splashing her in the face. Without a word, he extended his hand towards her as an offering of aid. Conflicting emotions flickered across her face. Initial contempt and mistrust of his help was quickly splashed away by another wave, replacing it with panic and desperation. The look in her eyes reminded him of a scared cat he had once found trapped on a post by the docks. He wondered briefly if Jade might also try to clamber on top of his head like the cat had to escape the rushing water. The image made him smile. She was certainly small enough.

As they advanced further, Jade lost all purchase on the bottom of the river. Right before her head went under the water, she released her hold on the saddle, and turned to grab onto Connor's outstretched hand. Before she disappeared completely, he reached forward to wrap his right arm around the front of her waist and lift her from the water, surprised at how light she was. She was so thin it felt as though his one arm could encircle her entirely. Just how little food had she been eating these past few months? She emerged uttering a visceral string of foreign words Connor could only assume were death threats between coughs and gasps for air. Suddenly, he felt her stiffen as she looked behind him, and warily asked, "Connor, what is that?" A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he turned to face the same direction Jade was looking.

It appeared there was a bear around, after all.

Connor swore in his own tongue, as well. The spirits had had a cruel sense of humor, ever since Jade had appeared. How could something so tiny cause so much trouble? He briefly wondered if all his bad luck would wash away if he just let go of her. No, probably not. If she brought this much trouble while alive, he could only imagine how irritating her promised haunting would be if she were dead.

The large grizzly ambled down to the water's edge for a drink, and did not appear to notice them, yet. Connor prayed it would stay that way. Since it was off to the side, they were not immediately in its line of sight. Jade whispered, "Is it supposed to be that big, or is luck just on our side today?"

Keeping his eye on the bear, Connor continued his steady path across. He leaned close to Jade's ear. "No, that one is especially large," Connor whispered back, "Now please, quiet." She didn't respond, but tightened her grip on his shoulder and arm as he carried her. They were at the deepest point now, almost halfway to the other side. If they could just make it back to the shallows-…

The wind suddenly shifted in the direction they were walking. Oh no.

As soon as the horse caught the scent of the bear it whinnied, and bucked, trying to run through the water. Connor and Jade both watched in horror as the bear turned to look at them. Silently, it stood up on its hind legs to get a better look at the splashing horse, and sniffed the air.

That's it. As soon as they got back, he was shooting this damn skittish horse.

The bear was massive. Connor guessed it to be about fourteen feet tall, and well over 1500 pounds. Any other time, and he would have been excited by such a hunting challenge. As it was, he was still tired and sore from the wolf attack earlier, and stranded in a vulnerable position at the bear's mercy. Curious, the bear lowered itself back to all fours and began wading into the water to approach the group. It either wanted to see if they were for food, or if they were for play. Neither of those choices would end well.

Connor struggled with what to do. Unlike the group, the large mass of the bear did not appear slowed by the height and speed of the river, and was slowly gaining on them. As large as Connor was, he could not tread much faster in the current, especially while carrying Jade. He looked around as the oversized grizzly closed in. Jade was not going to like his plan.

"I am sorry for this," Connor said.

"Sorry, for what?" Jade asked, confused.

Turning, Connor released his hold of the horse's reins, and smacked its backside hard. It neighed and began trying to leap its way back to shore, leaving Connor and Jade behind. The wolves that had lain across its back were bucked off, and fell into the river, carried onward by the stream. Jade turned to him in alarm, "Wait, what are you-AAH!" She shouted as Connor flung her into the river. Her cries were cut short as she plunged beneath the surface and was immediately swept up by the rapid current. He groaned from the effort, before jumping in after her. His body ached. How much more could it take today? Fighting the acid bite in his muscles, Connor swam downstream as fast as he could while trying to keep the girl in sight.

This plan was dangerous, and he had only one shot to get it right. Already, they were out of range of the horse and bear, but entering the deeper, narrower section of the river where Connor would no longer be able to stand. If he remembered correctly, that meant they were nearing the rapids. They should definitely get out of the river before reaching that point. When he neared Jade's flailing form, he pulled up into a wading position and took a rope dart from his pouch, letting go a long length of rope. As she sank back down, Connor swung the darted end around sideways. It flew through the air and successfully wrapped around one of Jade's upstretched arms. He felt a brief surge of triumph, but winced as the dart head bit into the flesh of her arm in the process. Although Jade was mostly underwater, she was quick to respond. Immediately moving her arm, she coiled the rope further around her forearm before grabbing hold, tethering herself to Connor despite the fact that it also secured the dart head deeper into her skin. Connor quickly switched the rope to his left hand, coiling it around his own wrist several times before grabbing it securely, as well.

With his right hand, he pulled out another rope dart, and began looking for an opening. There. Ahead, hanging out part way over the river were the branches of an elderly oak tree. He began swinging the rope and released the dart in an overhead arc towards the lowest thick, sturdy branch he could see. The dart fell just short, wrapping instead around one of the more slender branches beneath his target. He held his breath as they passed under the tree, and the rope tightened, pulling on the tree.

The branch snapped.

No.

As the river further narrowed, Connor looked ahead to see the upcoming rapids fast approaching. He frantically tried to throw the rope dart again at the tree branches in vain. They were too far now, nothing was within distance. He turned and watched helplessly as Jade slammed into the first rock outcropping, and ricocheted into another. Fighting fatigue and the current, Connor tried to swim around the other side of the rock Jade had hit, hoping to catch the rope around it. They stopped suddenly as the rope snagged against the rough, slanted surface. Quickly, he reached back to grab the rock, but the rope slipped free again before he could, allowing the current to continue whisking them through the rapids. He spun and hit another rock, feeling one of his ribs crack as he plunged under water. The wind knocked from his body, Connor's lungs burned as he surfaced to breath, looking around dizzily. He had to keep trying. There had to be a way. There had to be! Where was it?!

Just as Connor was about to fall over another drop in the rapids, his tethered arm suddenly jerked backwards painfully, stopping his descent. He let out a pained shout as the muscles strained and tore in his side. From above, he realized he was not the only one shouting in pain.

"AAAUGH! WHY IS EVERYTHING IN THIS CURSED LAND TRYING TO KILL ME?!"

Connor looked up to see Jade's face contorted in agony. She had managed to wrap herself around the trunk of a fallen tree that had become lodged between rocks, and was clinging for dear life. It was not a large tree, probably knocked over from the recent storm last week. Connor worried that too much sudden movement with their combined weight might dislodge it, releasing them back into the rapids. Jade looked down at Connor, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR PRINCESS?! HURRY UP AND GET YOUR ASS UP HERE BEFORE YOU TEAR MY ARM OFF!"

While holding onto the tree with one arm and both legs, Jade slowly began coiling the rope around her other arm, drawing Connor up. Likewise, Connor began pulling himself up the rope by wrapping the slack around his own arm. Bit by bit, they pulled him over the drop, and over to Jade's log. Although Jade's arm was mostly covered by the rope, Connor could still see several steady trails of blood streaming down from where the dart head had embedded itself in her arm. Her heavy breathing was laced with pain, as she gasped, "Alright, now what?"

Now that he had a solid foothold, or at least handhold, Connor at last had something he could work with. Scanning his surroundings, he saw that they were no longer in the middle of the river, but had drifted closer towards their destined side. That was one very thin, silver lining. Unfortunately, this section of the rapids was more of a channel carved through rock. The way out was up several fairly steep walls. Pushing through his wall of exhaustion, Connor began to unwind the rope from his arm, motioning for Jade to do the same. She clawed awkwardly with fingers numb from the cold water and lack of circulation from the rope, but managed to unwind some slack to give Connor leeway to move. Cautiously moving around the tree trunk, he climbed partway up the rock it was lodged against. Positioning himself on the appropriate side, he launched himself backwards, pivoting around in the air to grab onto a taller rock outcropping. His muscles strained as he tried to maintain his grip on the wet boulder. Oh, to be young again.

"Hold on!" Connor shouted back to Jade. Slowly, he began winding the rope around his arm. Jade released her hold on the tree, allowing herself to be pulled against the swift current. Clumsily, she used her free arm to navigate around the smaller rocks jutting up from the water's surface. Waves continued to splash over her form, and he worried about her taking in too much water and losing consciousness while still in the rapids. Her eyes were open and blinking, but she looked dazed. Was she slipping into shock? How much blood had she lost from the injury to her arm? Any amount could potentially be dangerous to someone of her size. Connor grabbed Jade and pushed her to a more secure position on the rock, before climbing up onto its jagged top.

The bank wall was very close now. Connor assessed the obstacle between him and safety. Rock rose directly out of the water for about twenty feet before leveling off into the forest. He looked for anything that could pass for secure handholds, then compared them to the plunging rapids below them. There would be no second chance after this.

Untying the rope from his arm, Connor tied it around his waist, looping it through his belt to make sure it was secure. Crouching low, he sprang from the rock towards the wall, aiming for just above the water line. As he landed, his gloves threatened to slip. Quickly, he shifted his weight and shoved his hand into a nearby crevice on the rock face. It held. He shouted in triumph, and began to climb. After a few feet, he felt the rope begin to tighten around his waist. This is where things would get tricky.

"Don't try to move! Just hold the rope!" Connor called back down. He couldn't tell if Jade had heard him or not, but he continued his ascent. The further he climbed, the closer he dragged her towards the rock face. The current pulling on Jade threatened to dislodge him, but he kept reaching for handholds, fighting to reach solid ground.

About five feet from the top, Connor hit a snag. The rope was too short. He had thought there would be enough rope for him to climb all the way up then pull Jade up behind him. Instead, the end just within sight, but just out of reach. He looked down, and was alarmed to see that Jade had now sunk beneath the water, with only her roped arm visible. Gritting his teeth, Connor looked up. He had to do this now. Reaching ahead, Connor grabbed a shelf ledge and pulled himself up. If this were anyone else bigger, he doubted he would be able to do this. The rock gave way to overhanging vines, which he grabbed next. As he hoisted himself up, Jade's head emerged for the water. So close now, just a few more feet. Following the vine, Connor finally managed to climb up and throw himself up over the top. Gasping, he heaved in several deep, breaths. It was so tempting to close his eyes, just drift to sleep…

No, he was not finished, yet. Sitting up, he reached down to his waist and grabbed hold of the rope that extended back down over the edge. Gripping the length, he pulled. Hand over hand, little by little, the rope began to pool between his feet while he sat facing the edge. The weight meant she was still holding on. She had to be okay. She had to be.

At last, a hand appeared over the top, fumbling weakly to grab onto anything. Connor maintained tension on the rope as he leaned forward, until he was able to catch Jade's sleeve. Seizing both her hands, he heaved backwards, pulling her up over the edge. They collapsed together in a wet, exhausted pile. Jade choked and sputtered for breath. Too spent to move, Connor lay there with the girl draped over himself, both panting from exertion. From his chest, Jade groaned as she tried to move, finding that a failed experiment.

Raising her head, she looked up at Connor. "Next time," she wheezed, "We take the bridge."


	6. Chapter 6 - Karma

Chapter 6 - Karma

Connor came to sometime later. He didn't know how long he had been out for, but it couldn't have been long. Jade still lay unmoving in a tangled, soggy mess on top of him. Gently, he brought his hand around and placed it on her back. Ragged, but breathing, so that was a good sign. Should he try to move? Raising his head up, Connor craned his neck to get a better look at Jade without disturbing her. This turned out to be more difficult than anticipated, as she was so close he could really only see the top of her head.

Deciding to take a chance, he tentatively reached for her shoulder to roll her over from where she was sprawled. The moment he touched her he knew something was wrong. Jade hissed sharply, "Stop! Stop. Do not move."

Connor froze. "What would you have me do then?" he inquired.

"Just…wait," Jade gasped. She was clearly in a great deal of discomfort. Moments later revealed why. Unable to sit up directly, she half-pushed, half-rolled herself off his chest with her left hand, revealing the mangled mess of her right side. Her right hand and forearm were tightly tangled up in blood-soaked rope, while her shoulder now sloped at a lower angle. Jade slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position and scooted away to lean back against a nearby sapling. Her face was ashen, hair plastered to her head, as she closed her eyes.

Now free, Connor started to sit up and immediately felt sharp needles stabbing his side, sending his head back down to the ground. Apparently, he had reinjured himself, possibly with a broken rib now. Dr. White was going to be thrilled. Rolling over instead, Connor pushed himself up, and moved over to where Jade sat. Removing his gloves, he reached forward, and began to brush the hair out of her face. Instinctively, Jade's good hand flew up and grabbed his own tightly. As she opened her eyes to look at him, he stopped his movement, "I need to check you for other injuries."

Several tense moments passed. Jade released Connor's hand, but continued to watch him warily. Very carefully, he brushed the rest of her hair out of her face. This was the first time he had actually gotten a good look at the girl. Her piercing, almond-shaped eyes were a much lighter brown than he had expected, and seemed to reflect shades of grey-green in the sunlight. He ran his thumb over the minor scratches on her forehead and cheek, taking in the number of small scars also present. Some were more noticeable than others, and Connor inspected each in turn. A small triangle on her chin here. A white cross through her eyebrow there. A line running across her cheekbone pointing to both. Each told the story of hard choices made in a harder life.

He recognized now why she had not said a word about how she felt since being pulled from the river, despite being so talkative previously. Not only was she no prey, she was also no stranger to pain. This he understood. From his experience, the two often went hand in hand.

Slowly moving his hands up, he ran his fingers over her scalp to check for any other signs of trauma. Even wet, the softness of her hair surprised him. It was a texture he had never encountered before, and he had to stop himself from twirling the short strands between his fingers. No, she is not a doll, and he is not a child, he told himself, as he resumed the task at hand. "Does any of this hurt?" he asked, tilting her head to one side to inspect her neck. She shook her head slightly, still watching his every move.

Trust. He needed her to trust him.

"May I look at your shoulder?" he asked calmly.

Pursing her lips, Jade nodded ever so slightly. "It is in the wrong place," she explained, "It has happened before, but not this badly."

Connor cautiously slipped his hand inside her collar, gently feeling the position of bones under her skin, "How bad is it?"

"Bad when I hit the rocks. Worse when I stopped in a tree and you continued," she winced, as Connor prodded, "Worst when you hauled me up a cliff. And you? Have you nothing to show for yourself?"

Connor shrugged, a habit he had picked up from colonials. "My side?" he offered, gesturing to his ribs.

"Oh, that is not new. It was clear from your previous fights that is very old," she complained.

"Must it be new? Would you be happy if I told you I also suffer pain now?" he offered. Although he was putting on an easy show of nonchalance, Connor was starting to feel the cracked rib growing impatient with his continued activity. He needed to lay down. Possibly for a week.

"I would not believe you. I am disappointed. Karma is not fair today," she sulked.

"What is Karma?" Connor inquired, feeling around the outside of her arm with his other hand.

"An Indian word," she responded simply.

Connor looked up, puzzled, "I have never heard this word among any of the peoples of this land. Which tribe?"

"No, not those Indians," she smiled, "Different ones, from across the sea in a land of white stone cities and busy dirt roads, filled with many different sights, sounds and smells." She crinkled her nose, "Sometimes too many smells."

He stilled his examination, intrigued, "What does it mean?"

"It is the circle of cause and effect. The total of a person's actions in this and previous lives, determine consequences in the future. Good intentions and actions bring good rewards. Bad brings bad," Jade elaborated.

"I see," Connor nodded, resuming his task, "So, today Karma gave you what you deserved?"

Jade jerked her head up, "What? What did I do to deserve this?"

"You did steal that purse. Also my furs. And my rabbits," Connor listed.

She sniffed in contempt, "You will no longer receive any rabbit skins in your sleep."

That brought a grin to Connor's face, "That would probably be a mercy for both me and the rabbit."

Jade burst out laughing despite herself.

Right as Connor pulled and twisted her arm to set it back in place.

There was a loud pop, and Jade's laughter abruptly shifted to a swallowed scream, as she clenched her teeth, "Nrrggh! Ah. Ah ha. I hate you, and hope you suffer leprosy."

Yes, that had been deceptive of him. However, when an opportunity presents itself, only a fool does not take it. Connor removed his right hand from inside her shirt where he had braced her shoulder, while his other had pulled. Breathing in sharply through her nose, Jade closed her eyes and exhaled, "For that, you will probably be born as a dog in the next life. This is how I will console myself." After a few moments, she leaned forward, cradling her arm. "But, thank you. It feels much better," she added.

With the most difficult part over, the rest of the arm would be fairly easy work. Connor worked at unraveling the layers of rope that had gotten tangled and looped tightly around her joints. Underneath lay the rope dart head, buried deep in her forearm. He removed it as meticulously as he could, but the blood flow still increased with nothing blocking the wound entrance. Looking around, Connor searched in vain for something to serve as a bandage that could staunch the blood flow. The horse was lost in the woods, possibly dead (he hoped), with all the supplies. "Here," Jade gestured with her good hand, "Pull the sleeve back down over the wound, then pull the sides tight against it." Connor did as she instructed. "Good, now fold the extra cloth flat against my arm," she directed. After he had done so, Jade held the fabric in place with her own hand. "Now, wrap the rope around my arm keeping no space between each line. Do not wrap too tight, I do not want to lose my arm."

After untying the dart head from the string, Connor coiled the rope around her forearm, binding the cloth in place. The loose ends he looped back around her neck and tied together to create a makeshift sling. She would need stitches, but the rope bandage would do for the time being. A cursory check showed that her hand was also broken, but there was nothing that could be done about that at present. They would need to see Dr. White as soon as they returned.

"Can you stand?" Connor asked.

Jade gave him a look, "Do I have a choice?" Fair point. Standing up first, Connor offered his hand. Jade hesitantly accepted, "Please do not pull this arm out of place, too."

Connor snorted, stepping around behind her, and lifting her by the waist. Jade wobbled a bit, woozy from blood loss. Just in case, Connor held his elbow out for her to grab, if she needed an escort to lean against. Contemplation showed in her eyes, but ultimately Jade shook her head, signaling for Connor to lead the way. He obliged and began walking back to the Homestead, praying for nothing else to happen. Wolves and bears, already. What did that leave? Lions? No! He must not think about that, the spirits might hear him.

Lions and wolves and bears. Oh my.

Several hours and pinecones later, they finally arrived back at Davenport. Connor tried to show her upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms, but Jade declined. Slumping into the nearest chair, she exhaled heavily, "If I do not need to, I do not want to climb more today. Do you have a needle and string?"

"Why? You wish to sew?" Connor inquired.

"My arm, of course. That large a cut will not close itself. I must help it," she explained.

"Do not worry, I will go find Dr. White. You may rest here until I return with him," Connor said as he made ready to head back out the door. Honestly, he was half-tempted to search for the thread and needle and let Jade tend to herself. The thought of immediately trekking back out after having just returned home was unappealing, but these were injuries he did not know how to treat fully himself.

Jade's eyes widened in alarm, "Thank you, I am sure you mean well, but I do not trust the doctors in this land. They are crazy. And dirty." Looking up at his imposing frame crowding the entrance hall, she added, "No offense."

Suppressing a sigh, Connor opened the door and called back, "I will return soon. If you are hungry you may help yourself to anything you find in the store room." Shutting the door behind him, he began to walk briskly towards the settlement, but slowed to a halt after a few steps. Was giving her free reign of the house a mistake? In her condition, he certainly could not bring her with him to Dr. White's…or could he? No, it would not be practical, or polite. Starting again with renewed vigor, Connor continued down the winding trail. Still, he had this nagging feeling that he shouldn't leave Jade alone. But she was injured, what could she possibly do?

The light had already faded by the time Connor reached Dr. White's practice. Knocking twice, Connor listened to hear if the doctor was, in fact, in. The muffled sound of shifting chairs indicated he was, before the door opened revealing the bespectacled man himself. Dr. Lyle White was as prim and proper a colonial as Connor had ever met. A quick glance into the cabin showed a scrupulously clean and orderly abode, with each of his many instruments in their rightful place. Faint chemical and herbal smells wafted out into the evening air. Adjusting his glasses, the doctor peered into the oncoming darkness, and exclaimed, "Connor! Where on earth have you been? It's been nearly a week since anyone here last saw you! Usually you tell us before you disappear for that long. Prudence stopped by a few days ago to bring you some bread and eggs, only to find the door wide open, wood chopping half done and no one home. That was strange enough, but then today your horse comes wandering in alone, with bags strapped to its head, but no rider on its saddle. We thought for sure something had happened to you!" Pulling Connor inside, Lyle assessed Connor's muddied, disheveled state in the light of the cabin's lanterns. "Although it appears something did happen. I should have guessed that's why you're here, of course." Whisking about the room, he picked up an assortment of tools, rapping out instructions in a clipped voice, "Alright then, you know the drill. Jacket and shirts off, show me where it hurts, and tell me what fool thing you've gone and done to yourself this time."

Damn it, so the horse still lived? He supposed that was better in the long run. At least, now he would not have to hunt for his supplies. "Actually, Dr. White, I have not come here for me. There is another I would have you see," Connor interrupted.

Dr. White looked up from a table where he had been selecting from an assortment of tweezers, "Oh? Another? Adding to the collection of residents here again, are we? Who is it this time? Another man down on his luck? A family looking for a fresh start on the frontier? Perhaps a delicate damsel in distress looking to start a new family, with a new man? Possibly of the medical persuasion?"

Connor chuckled. Delicate damsel? A stringy piece of gristle, maybe. "No, doctor, I do not believe our guest is any of those."

"Well, a man can always hope," Dr. White muttered to himself. "Alright, then," he said, gathering the selected equipment into his bag, "Let us be off before it gets too late. I really must finish that chapter of Don Quixote before I sleep tonight. Riveting story, I tell you!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Connor acknowledged, as they stepped outside. While they walked back, he couldn't help but ask, "Dr. White, you said that my horse returned this morning? Where is it now?"

"Oh, probably roaming around near your stables. The poor beast was terribly spooked, would not let a single soul near it. It was as though it had seen a ghost," he replied.

"Not a ghost. A bear," Connor clarified.

"Hmm," the doctor nodded, "That would explain a great deal, including why you and your guest are in need of my services. Speaking of, might I inquire as to the state of our guest? If a bear was involved, please remember I am a doctor, not Jesus. I can no sooner raise the dead, than turn water into wine. Although, you seem to forget that from time to time, showing up with bloody tree trunks sticking out of your body."

"You are far too modest about your skills, doctor. Without you, I would be dead."

Dr. White guffawed, "Oh, please! That was less about my skills, and more about your sheer, idiotic stubbornness to survive. Any other good man would have taken a good look at that great hole in his body and realized the only responsible course of action would be to die, so as not to trouble me with their lunacy in the future. But no, here you stand, not a thought for my wellbeing, at all. It's incredibly selfish, I tell you."

Connor raised an eyebrow, just barely visible in the dark.

"You could at least have brought back a pretty one this time to show your gratitude," the doctor grumbled.

"I thought you had the attentions of Ellen, our tailor," Connor mused.

"'Had,' being the optimal word there. Mean right hook, that one," he said, rubbing his jaw at the memory.

That was surprising. "She hit you? Why?"

"A miscommunication, I assure you. She came to see me just the other day after twisting her ankle on a gopher hole in her yard. I told her that it would probably be best if she just removed all her skirts, petticoats and everything from the waist down, so I could actually get to her ankle. Mind you, I only suggested it for expediency's sake as she seemed to be in a great deal of pain. Have you ever tried to find a woman's leg amidst twenty petticoats? Maddening! I even offered to help her! She decided I was being unprofessional," Dr. White defended himself.

Silence followed.

"Medicine can be quite a thankless profession."

Connor tried not to laugh. The doctor had a good heart, but was not always the best with social graces, despite his sharp appearance. As they approached the front porch of the mansion, Connor stopped the doctor briefly, "I should warn you, our visitor is a bit…unusual. You may need to be patient."

"When am I not, my lad?" Dr. White said as he opened the door, "However, you still have not told me the nature of our guest's afflictions. I suppose I'll find out on my own, then."

As they entered, Connor looked around the dark house. The chair Jade had been in was empty, and she was not visible anywhere. Lighting a lantern, they proceeded further into the house. "Upstairs in the guest room?" Dr. White ventured.

Connor shook his head, he had a feeling he knew where Jade would be. Rounding a corner, a faint glow in one of the rooms proved him right. He and the doctor walked into the kitchen to find it not altogether unlike the Aquila after a battle. A pot of water was boiling over on the stove, which Connor removed from its heat source. Several pans were strewn about the counter. A broom and dustbin had been knocked over, and a bag of flour spilled across the floor. A bucket of water lay on its side, its contents mixing with the flour, and discarded eggshells were scattered on top to complete the doughy mess on the floor. Jade sat huddled in the corner, almost invisible behind the piles of food she had collected for herself. As the two men entered, she froze in the midst of peeling a boiled egg. Dr. White readjusted his glasses and stared, "I see our guest has found the eggs and bread from Prudence. Also the cheese, onions, potatoes, carrots and venison."

Both parties stared at each other intensely for several moments. Jade took a bite of her egg.

"Right…well, then. Come on, boy, let me see you. We haven't got all night."

Unmoving, Jade swallowed and took another bite of egg.

"Uhm, do you speak English?" Taking in her attire, he turned to Connor, "Is he a foreigner?"

"I think so," Connor affirmed.

"You think so? How did you end up with a stranger in your house you know nothing about?" the doctor asked incredulously. At the moment, Connor was wondering the same thing. "Do you at least know his name?"

Connor saw Jade stiffen at the question, "No…not really." It was true, in a way. He sensed that Jade was as much her name, as Connor was his. She relaxed slightly at his response. He nodded in her direction, "Our friend here was following me back from Boston, but helped me when I ran across some wolves. There were no injuries until we met the bear."

"The bear did this?" Lyle asked, looking at the bloodied rope sling.

Sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, Connor replied, "Actually, much of that is my doing, from when we escaped."

The doctor turned to Connor and shook his head, "Only you would think to injure someone in the name of saving him." Jade smirked and rolled her eyes from behind Dr. White, looking down when he turned back to her. "Hello! Doctor!" he enunciated slowly, gesturing to himself, "Are you ok? Hurt?" Removing the last piece of shell, Jade popped the remnants of the egg into her mouth. He sighed, "Well, I see I won't be finishing that chapter of Don Quixote tonight. Connor, if you would please get two chairs and a bottle of spirits? Brandy, whiskey, anything will do."

Turning to leave the room, Connor gathered the requested items and returned to find Lyle laying his equipment out on a small table he had pulled over to where Jade sat. She had moved onto a carrot, and was eyeing the doctor with great suspicion. "Excellent!" Dr. White exclaimed, arranging the chairs around the table. "Please?" he motioned to the station, turning back to plead, "Connor? I'm a bit out of my depth here."

Connor walked over to kneel in front of Jade, blocking her from Dr. White's view. Offering his hand out again, he quietly assured her, "It's ok, he is a friend. You will be safe."

Finally, Jade relented, putting the carrot down and taking his hand, "You said that last time. Then there was a bear."

Moving her hand to his shoulder, Connor reached down and picked her up by the waist again, ushering her to the table.

"For someone who looks absolutely terrifying at first glance, you have a remarkable way with people. It makes me a bit envious at times," the doctor commented. Taking the bottle of rum Connor had procured, he popped the cork off and took a swig. Exhaling loudly from the burn, he offered the bottle to Jade. She took it and looked to Connor who nodded. Nervously, she tipped the bottle and took a swig, immediately making a face. It looked as though she might spit it out, but instead forced it down, shuddering violently as she did. "I see I am not the only one who does not share your taste in liquor, Master Connor. Again," Dr. White said, while miming a drink with his hand. They did this twice more before he was satisfied, and finally unwrapped the rope to look at her arm and hand.

"The shoulder was dislocated, which I set. However, the arm will need stitches, and the hand is broken," Connor explained while the doctor examined Jade.

"Yes, that's why I asked for the rum," Dr. White responded. Taking a needle and thread from his supplies, he started, "Now, I'll need-" but was abruptly cut off as Jade quickly reached forward and snatched them from his hand. Without a word, she walked over to the still steaming pot of water on the stove and dropped them in. The doctor was at a loss for words, "Well…I…Huh. I have to say that is a first." Taking a bowl from the counter, she dipped it into the pot and set it on the table. She then fished in a trouser pocket to pull out a bar of soap which she laid next to the bowl, before sitting down. Giving a pointed look at the arrangement, she raised her eyebrow at the doctor.

The shocked look on Dr. White's face was priceless. Connor was struggling not to laugh at his expense, "I believe you are required to wash your hands, first."

"Yes, I see that." Picking up the soap he indulged Jade's unspoken demand. "Although, I've never had to wash my hands before eating needle and thread soup. Where do you find these characters, Connor?" the doctor replied.

"They always find me, good doctor."

"Aye, that we do, sir. That we do," Lyle smiled good-naturedly. Holding up his hands before Jade, she nodded and went to fish the needle and thread out of the pot with a large spoon, handing them back to the doctor. She then dipped another bowl into the steaming water before carefully pouring it over her open injury, wincing. The doctor blinked, "Yes, definitely a foreigner, I would say."

The stitches did not take very long, although many were required to close the deep cut. Dr. White's hands words quickly and briskly, years of practice making the stitches tight and uniform. However, setting the hand was a much trickier matter, requiring more careful movements from the doctor, and more rum for Jade. By the time he had finished realigning the bones and splinting her hand, Jade's face and neck had turned an alarming shade of crimson. While she had not made a sound throughout the whole process, she was sweating profusely from the strain it had placed on her. The doctor finished tying off bandages and sling, packed up his things, and made ready to leave, "I'll be by again in a week or so to make sure the bones are healing straight. Keep a very careful eye on that hand, and make sure he doesn't use it at all. Hands are tricky to heal, as the bones can slip out of place very easily. If that happens, and the bones start to mend crooked, I'll have to rebreak them to fix it."

"Thank you, Dr. White. You have been a great help, I am in your debt," Connor thanked him, walking him to the door. "Shall I walk you back?"

"Oh, goodness, no! I am not some high class lady that you must escort. Besides, you should probably stay here, lest your entire larder disappear before your return. I shall be fine, and return in several days time," he nodded, before adding, "By the way, you may have correspondence waiting for you in the morning. Prudence noticed a few different colored birds in your coop, but did not check them. She thought that best to leave for yourself."

More birds? He had not received any messages from the other Brotherhood locations in months. With the British gone, he had thought their battles to be over. "I will see to it in the morning. Good evening, doctor," Connor waved.

"Good evening!" the doctor bid farewell, as he walked into the night.

As Connor closed the door, the cumulative events of the day finally hit him with a crushing wave of fatigue. Releasing a long, drawn out sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he walked back to the kitchen, and took in the mess once again. Connor rubbed his eyes furiously. Maybe the spirits would be kind, and all this would be gone when he opened his eyes. No. It was still there. He would deal with it in the morning.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat as he looked at Jade. She was still sitting at the table, rum in hand, smiling at him drunkenly. He tilted his head, taking in her alarmingly red face.

"Karma?" Connor asked thoughtfully.

Jade hiccupped, and smiled even wider, "Karma."


	7. Chapter 7 - Fair Trade

Chapter 7 – Fair Trade

Connor opened his eyes late next morning, and immediately wished he hadn't. His body was protesting very loudly that he should not, under any circumstances whatsoever, get out of bed today. And, he had to admit, he was inclined to agree. Now that the adrenaline of the previous day had run its course, he was left with aches and bruises in places he hadn't remembered could ache and bruise. It brought back old memories. A chuckle escaped him, which sore muscles immediately constricted into a groan.

He closed his eyes to the sunlight streaming in through the window. By the end of last night, Jade had proven to be paradoxically both more cordial, and more stubborn when drunk, absolutely refusing to leave the kitchen larder in the nicest voice he had ever heard. When it was clear that reasoning with her wouldn't work, he'd had to forcibly march her to the foot of the stairwell, before carrying her upstairs to the guest bed. Clutching the remains of a bread loaf the whole time, she'd clumsily thwacked him upside the head once or twice in protest at being carried. There were probably still crumbs trailing up the stairs, right now

And, today? What was there to do today? Connor couldn't think of a single, good reason that he should get out of bed immediately. There was the Brotherhood correspondence waiting for him, but…they had waited several days already. Surely, they could wait one more hour.

A loud crash and angry shouts sounded from downstairs. Connor immediately bolted out of bed, and rushed out of the bedroom, tomahawk in hand. Jumping down the stairwell, he quickly ran to find the source of the commotion. He stormed into the kitchen to find that while it had been cleaned to a respectable degree, several more pots had fallen on the ground in exchange. Rubbing her head, Jade glared down at said pots accusingly. The smell of cooking meat and seasonings wafted through the air. Upon seeing Connor's shirtless, weapon-wielding form, she froze, then quickly looked away, "I am sorry. Am I not allowed in here anymore?"

Lowering his tomahawk, Connor sighed, "What are you doing?"

Jade shifted nervously, "I was hungry. You were asleep."

Connor was taken aback, "After everything you ate last night? Are you ever not hungry?"

Still avoiding eye contact, Jade shifted again, "No."

Her embarrassed expression instantly sent a pang of guilt through Connor. He had let an injured, starved girl into the kitchen and told her to help herself. What had he expected would happen? That she would giggle and say she needed to watch her figure, like Ellen's daughter always did? Trying to change the topic, Connor cleared his throat, "Should you not be resting? The doctor said you must not be using your hand or arm. You risk further injury to yourself if you do."

Unbound, her arm hung at her side. But for the hand splint barely peeking out from the end of her sleeve, a casual observer would not be able to tell that the girl had nearly drowned then been swept out to sea, yesterday. At least partially at his hands. The thought sent another pang of guilt through him. Perhaps he should apologize for that.

"I am not using them," Jade insisted, stooping to pick up one of the pots, "That is why everything is now on the ground. Must you keep everything in difficult, high places?"

Connor picked up a pan to set on the counter. "They are not so high for me, and I do not usually plan for such short visitors to use them." Picking up another to stack on top of it, he asked, "What is it you wish to do? Would you like some help?"

"Ah! Thank you!" Jade responded, plucking the pan from Connor's hand and setting it on the stove, "But I am nearly finished." Walking to the counter, she began grabbing handfuls of coarsely chopped vegetables, and tossing them into the pan. They sizzled on contact, releasing a gust of steam and smells into the air. After adding a liberal douse of oil, she returned to the counter and began kneading a lump of dough with her left hand. Faltering for a second, she asked, "There will be a lot of food. Would you like some?"

This was ironic. He gave Jade a pointed look, and began hanging the rest of the pots and pans back on the highest wall hooks. Out of her reach. "I am being offered food from my own stores as though I were a guest," Connor muttered, "Although, I suppose I should be grateful I have any food left at all."

Jade turned to look back at him, inquiring, "Does that mean yes?"

A slight twinging sensation began in his left eye. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Connor sighed, "Yes. Please. Thank you. I…I need to…I'll be back…" Briskly walking outside, he quickly shut the door behind him and took several deep, calming breaths. Hopefully, the Brotherhood had news about something difficult, dangerous and far, far away from here.

As promised, the pigeon coop did indeed have new birds. Feathers floated through the air as they fluttered towards the coop entrance, anticipating breakfast. Connor obliged them with a handful of corn meal, before carefully reaching in. The first was a grey one from Boston: "T's spotted in S. district. Contacted NY. Awaiting orders. – S.C." His hands immediately tightened on the note. Connor read over the words several times to make sure his eyes and Achilles' reading lessons had not failed him. The note was dated – five days ago. It had probably arrived the morning after he left. Cursing himself for having dallied in the forest so long on the way back, he quickly grabbed the black-capped pigeon from New York, and ripped open the message strapped to its leg dated one day later: "Word from S.C., T's also confirmed in N. district, need orders ASAP – D.C." After a few calming breaths, he reached in to retrieve the last pigeon, another grey one from Boston, dated just yesterday: "ATTN: Sir, get your ass here NOW. Please. – S.C." That last note at least elicited a chortle from him, despite the rising apprehension he felt in his chest.

The papers crumpled in his hand, as he leaned his forehead against the side of the pigeon coop. Cursed be this land! The war was over now, the Crown had officially withdrawn its support, and the treaties had been drawn. What could the Templars possibly want now? They were supposed to be gone. They couldn't be back. Not after he had cut off the head of their Order here in the Colonies – States, he had to remind himself. They were the United States now. But, Stephane was a cautious man. He would not send a message like this unless he was absolutely sure they were back. Dobby also was not one who would call on Connor lightly. She was a proud woman who preferred to handle all affairs in her district by herself, but Templars…she would not be foolish enough to act against them alone.

That familiar fatigue settled back into his bones. Must he always continue to fight? For years, he had fought on the side of those who openly despised him in order to save his tribe, only to be betrayed by them in the end. Angered spiked through his veins. Pigeons burst forth in a flurried frenzy, and Connor realized belatedly that he had punched the side of the coop hard enough to tilt it. Why should he even care? Perhaps, he should do nothing, he thought. Allow the Templars their plots against the new colonies – States. Let George Washington see what happens for his scheming and double-crossing! It would be…karma.

Casting the notes in a nearby puddle, he stormed back into the kitchen, just as Jade was ladling out two steaming bowls. "Ah, good, are you ready?" she asked.

Connor barely glanced at her as he continued walking, "I am not hungry."

Reaching out her hand towards him, she began to protest, "Wait-"

Spitefully, Connor quickly tried to throw his arm up, to avoid her touch. In a movement that reminded him of Achilles, he suddenly felt his hand painfully twisted back behind him, and his foot swept forward from under him. Body already turning, Connor instinctively reached from his opposite side to free his hand, only to find the sharp pressure immediately gone, and nothing there. Landing with a distinct "Oof!" on his side served to remind him once again where exactly he had cracked his rib yesterday. Why was it always the ribs? Why couldn't it sometimes be his foot, or even his small toe? Looking up, he glanced at Jade now standing significantly closer to the door leading outside. She was eyeing him warily, while clutching one of the steaming bowls in her hand.

Closing his eyes, Connor sighed. Right. Perhaps he would _not_ apologize for yesterday's events, just yet. From the floor, he slowly spoke, "I am sorry. I do not like for others to touch me. It is not a custom among my people. Yet, I should not have reacted the way I did." From the opposite doorway, he saw Jade duck her head and…blush? Was she blushing? The sight almost would have been endearing if he hadn't been so completely annoyed at her.

"I am sorry, also. I should not have done that either. I-I did not mean to. It was…it was…an accident," Jade sputtered. A few awkward moments passed, before she piped up again, "You are angry, and you have not eaten. Perhaps, you should eat until you feel better. Would you like to eat where you are now?"

"No, no," gauging that it was now safe to move without another attack from this tiny terror, Connor rolled into a sitting position, preparing to stand, "I should not stay. I need to go."

"Go where?" Jade asked, taking a few steps closer.

He stopped mid-rise, and sat back down, head against the wall. "I do not know."

Walking to crouch in front of him, Jade's eyes widened when her eyes fell on the mass of scar tissue covering his side. Instinctively, she moved her right hand forward, before wincing as she was reminded of her own injuries. Extending her left hand instead, she held out the steaming bowl, "Please, I…I do not often have the opportunity to eat together with others, and even less often use a kitchen. Please eat with me. Perhaps, when you finish, you will know where you are going."

Relenting, Connor nodded and stood up, accepting the bowl from Jade's hands. A fragrant wisp of steam caused a sharp pull from his stomach…and the realization that he had forgotten to eat yesterday evening after putting Jade to bed. Retrieving the other bowl, Jade followed Connor to the dining room and sat down. His horse pack and gear lay strewn across the other end of the table, along with Jade's grey bundle. When did she wake up this morning to get all this done? From the bundle, she withdrew several slender items, before sitting down across from Connor. "You will need one of these to eat. I saw your kitchen did not have them," she explained while laying down a pair of thin wooden sticks, and a silver instrument that looked like a miniaturized pitchfork.

This did not look like any bowl of soup he had eaten before. Confused, Connor stirred his spoon into the soup bowl to find a number of thin, flat ropes underneath a cloudy mass of meat and vegetables. Trying to lift the ropes with the spoon only resulted in them sliding off its smooth edges and back into the bowl, splashing him with broth. Startlingly loud slurping brought his attention back up. He had never known it was possible for another person to eat so loudly, or so quickly before. Using another pair of sticks, Jade devoured her food in a way similar to starved winter wolves he had once seen take down a particularly lively deer – only the wolves had had more manners. "What is this?" he asked, continuing to stir the bowl with his spoon. Many of the items in it seemed familiar, yet the presentation was not.

Jade paused and looked down at her own bowl. "American food," she stated confidently.

Connor laughed despite himself. "American food?" he asked, "How is this American food? I have never seen its likes before among any of the Colonials or native people in _this_ land. Or other lands!"

"It is American food," the girl insisted, "because it does not resemble anything from _my_ land. Your meat tastes different and has no fat. The flour does not stretch correctly. The vegetables I have seen before, but never eaten, and you had few of the spices I needed. So, it is _American,_ because it came from this land."

"But I have never eaten _American_ soup with-...how do you eat this? What are you doing?" Connor gestured at the sticks in Jade's hand.

Sitting up, she extended her left hand in front of her. "There are two ways to eat. This is one way," showing the grip on her sticks, "the other way is to use the fork there. If you have never seen these before, then perhaps the fork would be easier for you to use." Ducking her head down, Jade continued to shovel food into her mouth at an alarming rate.

Tentatively, Connor reached for the fork, and tried to grab the ropes again. This attempt was more successful, but some began to slip back when he had drawn them a distance out. Quickly, he ducked his head down to catch them. There was merit to Jade's wild methods, after all. The ropes were surprisingly chewy, while the meat had been stewed to tenderness. It was not quite like anything he had eaten before, but it was not bad, by any means. In truth, it was quite good. His stomach loudly began demanding more. Jade shot furtive glances to gauge his reaction, "How…do you like it?"

"It is good, although it is an unusual way to eat," he responded, noticing her shoulders relaxed slightly, "Where did you get these tools? Do you always carry them with you?"

"Of course! I may be in uncivilized lands, but that does not mean I have to eat like the white barbarians here," she quipped, holding the bowl to her lips and slurping the broth out.

Connor winced at the sound of her eating, but was surprised at her words. While foreigners often used the term to describe his tribe, rarely had he heard it applied back to them in turn. "Indeed. So, all the 'civilized' people in your land use forks and sticks to eat?"

"No, just the sticks. The fork belonged to my father. He acquired it during his trades overseas, and enjoyed using it – made him feel like nobility," Jade explained.

"I see," Connor pondered, "so your father was a tradesman?"

"Of a sorts," she responded obliquely.

Chancing to pry a bit more, he prodded, "And he gave this to you before you began your travels to…help you stay a civilized noble in barbaric lands?"

A smile escaped her, before a faint look of sadness overshadowed her eyes. "No," her words were quiet and even, "but he has not needed it for a long time." The girl's face was buried in her bowl once again, and Connor took the hint to continue eating from his own.

"And you?" Jade cast another furtive glance towards Connor, "What does your father do?"

"He…" Connor thought over his words, "He passed away some time ago." _Liar!_ The word echoed through his mind. "But, in truth, I never really knew him. My mother raised me with the tribe, but he was never-" _Murderer!_ "-never there in my childhood. In fact, I did not meet him until shortly before he died." _Because you killed him! Monster!_ Shaking his head, Connor eagerly changed the topic, "How is your arm?"

"It feels like someone tried to take it, and not give it back" said Jade wryly, "but it will mend. Your doctor has my thanks. He did do better than I had expected from a foreign devil, although I would prefer to take care of it from now on. Also, I would like not to have to drink more of that terrible wine, so that I do not wake up only to lose last night's dinner on the floor again." She massaged her temples at the recollection.

"What?!" Connor exclaimed.

"Do not worry! I have cleaned the floor of sick already. You can hardly smell it at all!" Jade's voice hiked up an octave, as she hurriedly changed the topic again, "Are you almost finished? I am going to have more." At that, she scurried off the chair to fix herself another large bowl of soup and ropes, and escape Connor's incredulous expression. How did she eat so fast? Did she even chew the food, or was it just pouring straight into her belly?

This girl was turning out to be quite the balance of oddity and irritation with each passing moment. Still, he had no more spare moments to explore this curiosity. The hot food had indeed cooled his temper, and the anger that burned within him had subsided to a reasonable clarity. George Washington was the one who had betrayed him, both in his childhood and as an adult, not the Brotherhood. The Brothers had always stood by his side, throughout their battles, and he would not forsake them now, not without reason. Doing so would make him no better than those who had betrayed him, and possibly lead to more innocents getting hurt. He had taken a vow to serve and protect the Brotherhood, and he would honor that vow. Regardless of what he decided to do about the Templars, he needed to make haste to New York and Boston, and ensure his friends were not in danger. Quickly, Connor finished his bowl, and stood to leave.

Damn his honor, it was going to get him killed.

As he stood to slip out, Jade returned and thrust another bowl into his hands. "Sit," she commanded, "eat." Before he could respond, she had already disappeared back into the kitchen.

Exasperated, Connor set the bowl down, "My apologies, but I really must be going now." He turned to leave only to find his hand wrenched up and behind again, forcing him back into the chair. The bowl and fork were jostled, as he bumped the table.

" _I have cooked._ You will eat it," Jade responded matter-of-factly.

Gritting his teeth, Connor quickly began shoveling food into his mouth at a rate to match Jade in speed and volume. At least she was practical, if a bit demanding. And the food was better than anything he had prepared for himself in a while. Deliberately setting down his second bowl with a thud, Connor glared up at Jade, then crossed his arms. A smirk threatened to capture the corners of her mouth, as she continued to eat. Soon finishing her own bowl, she asked, "Do you feel better now?"

Continuing to stare, Connor did not move or say a word. It was true, he now found it hard to stay upset on a full stomach. But, why should she have the satisfaction of knowing she had been right all along?

Three more bowls and several hours later, Connor was finally weaving his way through Boston, yet again. It was already late morning by the time he arrived, but a cool chill still hung in the air, keeping many from lingering outside for too long. The horse plodded away below him at an unbelievably sluggish rate. Perhaps asking for Warren's plow horse in lieu of his (former) riding horse had not been the wisest choice. This time, if a bear came after him, he would be the one to outrun the horse, not the other way around. Slowly, he made his way to the tavern in the middle of town.

Inside the building, thick cigar smoke mixed with steam from the kitchen to form a misty haze that curled about the room, obscuring people's silhouettes. Connor squinted in the dimly lit interior until he spotted Stephane Chapheau, sat at a small game table with a half-empty pint of ale, and a full board of checkers. The seat opposite him was empty. Connor ordered a pint at the bar, before taking the chair.

"Ah! His Majesty has finally graced us with his presence! I thought you didn't drink the common swill of we lowly peasants?" Stephane asked.

"It is not for me," Connor smiled, sliding the mug to join Chapheau's, "it is an apology. I am sorry for taking so long to arrive. There were…unforeseen events that have distracted me recently, but it is no excuse for endangering you and the others."

"HA!" Stephane guffawed. Bringing his hand to his chest, he bowed his head in a dramatic flourish, "Very well, sir. You have bought my forgiveness this time. Mademoiselle Dobby, on the other hand, will be _much_ more expensive! May I suggest the 1756 Château de Goulaine Merlot? It is _magnifique._ A wine that seductive, and even the coldest of ice queens is sure to warm her ways to your wiles, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

It was Connor's turn to snort, "We shall see." His face turned serious. Lowering his voice, he slid a white chip forward on the board, "What news from the South district? Has there been any more activity since last you wrote?"

Glancing sideways around the room, Stephane leaned forward as he moved a black piece in turn. "Aye, it started a fortnight ago, when I was travelling up to Smith's Trade Shop for cooking supplies."

Puzzled, Connor asked, "Why go all the way to Smith's for goods? Do you not have a Trade Shop here in the South district that is cheaper?" He pushed another white piece forward.

"Ahem, beg your pardon, Monsieur Connor, but Miss Smith's goods bring all the boys to the yard, if you know what I mean?" Stephane smiled mischievously, as he jumped Connor's white piece and removed it from the board. "Anyways, as I was saying, I was headed there for her _superior_ quality cooking supplies, when a strange fellow walked out of her shop. Instinct told me I knew this man, so I hid. After carefully following him a few blocks, he detoured to the harbor where I finally recognized him, once he set foot on a ship _._ The man's name escapes me, but he was without a doubt the former first mate of a late Mr. Nicholas Biddle, with whom I believe you are – were – well-acquainted, yes? It appears he has since been promoted to captain after Biddle's premature demise."

Connor grunted in acknowledgement, taking his turn to jump two of Stephane's pieces.

" _Merde!_ How do you do that?" Stephane scowled emptying the first pint of ale, "Ah, no matter. I should say, what interested me most was not that our friend had been promoted, but the colors he now wore with his promotion."

"What do you mean?"

Sliding a rear piece forward, he continued, "When last we saw our friend, he sailed with the Continental Navy of this land. Now, however, it appears his allegiances have changed. He bore the colors and flag of the Navy of Prussia."

Connor furrowed his brow in contemplation, "Prussia? Are they related to the Hessians who helped the Crown during the war?"

"No, both German-speaking, but different countries, much like England and America are both English-speaking, but, well…anyways, there have been many more Prussians sighted these past few months since the end of the war, and the removal of the British. Can you give me your best guess, why?"

Sliding a chip forward, he mused, "Then end of war with England brings peace, but also debt to France. Reparation requires money. That is why George Washington sold my people's land. But now that the States need money, they have also lost their largest country of trade."

Nodding, the Canadian agreed, as he jumped to claim another white piece, " _Oui,_ I had the same thought myself. The Colonies were also trading with France and Spain, but now that we are independent, we owe France a huge debt. Not so good for relations if you wish to continue trade…unless you wish to just ship them goods for free. And trade with Spain alone is not enough to offset this whole imbalance. I believe… the Prussians may be seeking to replace England as our primary trade partner. We pay off our debt, Prussia gains access to more resources. Everybody wins."

"Which then leads us to our new friend the Captain. What role does he play in all this?" Connor smirked as he double-jumped Stephane's pieces again.

" _Bon Dieu_ , Connor, I swear!" Stephane quickly lowered his voice again, "Ahem, I mean, that is what we have been trying to ascertain these two weeks. The Brothers have taken turns following him, when we can, but it is difficult sometimes. We cannot yet follow him too closely, or he may become suspicious."

"But your message said for certain that you had seen…the Order."

"Monsieur, the surviving first-in-command of a known Templar who was supposedly working for America is suddenly the leading Captain of a new navy for a different country? That possibly will become our largest trade partner?" Stephane slammed a black chip down on the board to emphasize his point. "Tell me you don't find that suspicious!"

It was true. These connections lined up just a little too well to be purely coincidental. Part of him had hoped that somehow Chapheau was mistaken, that he had misinterpreted or overexaggerated what he saw. "You are certain it was the same man then with Biddle that you see now?" Connor asked.

"On my father's life," he responded, "may he rest in peace. There is no mistaking such a giant of a man."

"Very well, what word from Dobby?" Connor shifted another white chip forward.

Stephane quickly jumped his chip again, "We sent word to her of your arrival as soon as we saw you enter town, which, by the way – what on earth were you riding? My dead grandmother can walk faster than that steed can run!"

Grimacing, Connor tried to explain, "It was…the only animal I trusted to carry me, for the moment."

"Ha! All this time, I thought you were delaying, but perhaps you actually left immediately after receiving my first note," Stephane wheedled, "I'm even surprised you got here before next week!"

"Ahem, about Dobby, you were saying?"

Stephane eased off his teasing, "Ah, _oui, oui_ , she will probably be here by nightfall. No doubt she will probably leave as soon as she gets our pigeon."

"Very well," Connor said, "For now, tell your men to keep an eye on the Captain's workers. If he sends people out, see where they go."

"And you, sir? What shall you do?"

"Well," Connor contemplated, as he jumped his white piece forward to be kinged, "Perhaps it is time I got a close look at this Captain, myself."


	8. Chapter 8 - Spy Games

Chapter 8 – Spy Games

Following Stephane's tips, Connor headed towards the docks where this 'Captain' had been last seen. After lunch, the air had warmed somewhat, bringing many people outside for a brief walk before they had to continue with their day's tasks. Blending easily with the crowds of leisurely strollers, he meandered down the winding paths until he saw the telltale yellow trousers of the Prussian soldiers. There were many more than he had anticipated seeing. Focusing on what Chapheau had described of the captain, Connor closed his eyes, switching to his Other Sight as he opened them again. He couldn't stay in this state for long, since it was very disorienting and draining, but he needed to be sure he found the right person. Everything blurred around him, as colors and sounds faded away. Concentrating, he looked towards the ships docked in the water.

From one of the gangplanks, a thin, faint gold thread wound along the length of the docks, and down a road back into town. What had been a blessing of so many civilians earlier, now turned into a frustrating obstacle as their feet obscured the gold path which was already dangerously faint. A woman stumbled and shoved him, as he clumsily walked into her, trying to hone in and follow the trail. Going down the hill, the trail stopped twice at a couple different merchants, noticeably increasing in intensity each time it led away. The captain had spent significant time inside each place, it would seem. As the trail grew brighter, Connor in turn grew more cautious, and slowed his pace. Rounding a corner, his target suddenly blazed before his vision in shining gold.

Exhaling, Connor slowly closed his eyes again, relaxing as he switched back to his normal sight. Achilles had once tried to explain the Eagle Vision of the Assassins to him before, but he still was not quite sure he comprehended the true origins of this ability. Apparently his father had possessed it as well, but it was not shared among all in the Brotherhood. Honing this ability during his training proved to be the most difficult task of him physically. The very first day he had tried it intentionally was shortly after earning the Assassin robes from Achilles. At the time, his Eagle Vision barely lasted thirty seconds, but the next day it left him so exhausted he was nearly bedridden, save for stumbling into the kitchen to gorge himself on sides of smoked venison. The memory reminded him what it was to feel true hunger. Not just the sensation of having forgotten to eat breakfast or lunch, but real, true desperate hunger that drove him literally to tear at the venison with his hands, gnawing the meat straight from the bone because any other action would have taken too long. And he was to fault Jade for her reactions to seeing a fully-stocked kitchen? Even now, a slight twinge pulled from his stomach, and he was suddenly grateful for her large force-feeding of breakfast.

The captain appeared to be taking a leisurely turn through a bustling, open market area, pausing occasionally to inspect the goods of different stalls. As Stephane had said, there was something familiar about this man. Connor could see his lips move as he engaged the stall owners in conversation, but couldn't make out any words from this distance. One shop owner smiled and shook the captain's hand genially. Another frowned with a sour face, looking the captain's Prussian uniform up and down before waving him away. Yet another had a puzzled look before uttering a few words and shrugging. As the captain continued to peruse and chat, Connor slowly circled around closer. Eventually the man finished his conversation and left the market square completely.

Following him proved much easier this time, especially from the rooftops. The former-Colonial, now-Prussian man walked several more blocks down the main road, before suddenly ducking down a very narrow side street. Briskly cutting through several more back alleys, and side roads, he eventually came to what appeared to be a cellar door. A cellar door guarded by four infantrymen. Interesting. Without a word, he walked straight past the guards, opened the cellar door, and climbed down the stairs. The infantrymen closed the door after him.

Clearly there would be no following the captain that way. Hopping across the alley overhead, Connor climbed onto the roof of the building attached to the cellar and cautiously looked through the nearest window. No movement stirred inside. The window was locked, but fortunately, this building was old. Old buildings meant old windows, and old, warped glass. Ever so carefully, Connor extended his hidden blade and gently wiggled it under the pane of glass between him and the locking mechanism of window. It was a simple semi-circle and loop construction primarily meant to keep the window from sliding open on its own. As the blade wiggled forward, it slowly pushed the circle of metal out of the loop that encased it. Once freed, Connor slid the window open and silently crept inside, listening.

Strange. The house was dead silent. For a large house that could afford guards in the middle of the city, surely there should be someone inside, whether it be children playing, or even house servants doing chores and cleaning. Rather, the entire building appeared to be empty, covered in a thick layer of dust. Fine cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and dead bugs littered the bare, wooden floor. Slowly making his way downstairs, Connor took care to duck once near the windows while he looked for anything that might lead to a cellar. This level appeared to be used somewhat more, with footprint trails through the dust on the parlor floor connecting the outside doors and kitchen. Still, there were no other visible doors downstairs, only those leading outside into the waiting arms of irritated infantrymen. What would Achilles do? As he scanned the room again for other clues, Connor noticed a path of footprints in the thick dust on the floor that suddenly ended at a wall. Hm. Either someone had taken too much whiskey the night before, or…

Moving to the wall, he began lightly tapping the surface with his fingertips, and feeling for – wait! There. That slight, square ridge under the wallpaper to the side. Gently pressing against that square, Connor heard a soft 'click,' before a three foot wide section of the wall slowly swung forward. _Please_ do not squeak, he silently begged as he carefully pulled the wall open, holding his breath. The wall opened to reveal a dark, unlit stairwell with half-rotted wooden steps. Muted voices could be heard down below. This would be slow going if he wanted to do it right. Pressing himself up against the corridor wall, Connor flanked the right side of the staircase for his descent where he hoped the wood was less compromised – and less likely to compromise his stealth. The door swung mostly closed behind him, blocking out the light.

After what seemed a painfully long time, and painfully few steps, the voices began to grow louder, until finally becoming intelligible. Halfway down, the staircase turned right. Connor paused his descent and peered around the corner to see a faintly lit room, its door partially open. Shadows flickered across the floor through the gap in the doorway, as two voices bickered within. "I don't care what your excuse is, you need to go faster! The deal could go through any day now, and we need to be prepared to move on that!"

A thick German accent responded, "Speed requires money to make hands go faster. You have decided to increase my budget?"

A deep British accent replied, "You have been allotted more than enough money for this project! It's not our fault if you have been imprudent with your expenditures!"

"Look, you want this believable. I am in deep. This gives me information you could only dream of. However, I cannot help you if my true mission is discovered. You need to understand these expenditures are absolutely _necessary!"_

"Oh yes, please _do_ explain why parties and spirits are necessary for this mission!"

"It's not as though I am going to the fine restaurants, and spoiling my men with tanks of rum each night! I am making connections, _building relationships_. That requires time and money, and yes, sometimes parties."

"Pah! Parties to build relationships which will be almost immediately terminated!"

"But we still need them! That is what you must understand! I was sent here by the King of Prussia to establish local contacts for trade, so that once his beloved trade treaty comes through with the President, the merchants are ready to begin shipping immediately. That is _exactly_ what I need to be doing now, or my men will grow suspicious, and I may lose my coveted post which has been supplying you with much valuable information. The more money I invest to make connections, the less suspicion there will be on me and the Navy when you and I finally _do_ sabotage this treaty. When you attack, you want it to look as disgruntled locals want no more foreign interference, and not because of some "outside" force, such as, oh, I don't know, the _Order_. Now are you going to give me the money I need, or should I tell the Grand Master that you were unwilling to cooperate, but willing to endanger this mission?"

There was the sound of a gun cocking, "You insubordinate- I could finish this mission successfully right now. Once they found the dead body of the primary military ambassador, your men and the King would call off negotiations immediately, and seek a new country for trade. No need for all this waiting, and begging for money."

"Oh yes, you are most brilliant, kill off one of the few informants we have in the Prussian government, and the only one with a military rank. Excellent thinking skills, _sir._ Tell me, where did you learn such genius strategy skills? A naval war college? Or your mother's backstreet place of employment? She did tell me last night that you were always one who liked things…quick."

Silence followed.

"You will pay for that remark, _Captain,_ " the second voice spat.

"And normally people who point a gun at me do not live to take another breath. Life is filled with disappointment for the both of us. I do not like you, and you do not like me, but there are bigger things here than our personal prides. If we fail, then we lose our one chance to bring the Colonies back under control. You know what that means for the Empire, and subsequently, the Order. So, I suggest we put aside our vast differences and dislikes for one another, and you put away your gun, so we can _get this job done_."

"Fine!" There was the sound of a coin purse hitting a table loudly. "Here is 200 in advance. I'll get you the rest later once I clear it with our accountant. But you had better make good on your promise. If you fail, I will have your head for this."

"I promise you, sir. If I fail, we will both be dead long before it comes to that." 

After spying on the Captain's conversation, sneaking back outside was simple enough. The real problem had occurred when trying to lock the window again from the outside. Now that had proven tricky. Hopefully no one would notice the chips of paint missing from the window pane. Retracing his steps backwards, Connor spent the afternoon investigating the different places visited by the Captain. Most appeared to be standard merchant stores, some specializing in locally grown goods, such as furs, corn or tobacco.

After nightfall, Connor headed to a grey warehouse in the North district. His time with Aveline had given him the idea to open other legitimate mercantile bases of operations besides Davenport, so that members of the Brotherhood would have both steady income to support their families, as well as a secure front for their travel and missions. Unfortunately, there had not yet been time to establish the business properly, so it still sat around mostly unused. At least it now made sense why Stephane had purchased this particular building on behalf of Connor – it was right across the street from Smith's. In light of the recent conversation he overheard, would anyone be approaching this operation soon? He pondered that question as he opened the door and headed inside.

In a back cargo room, he found Dobby and Stephane gathered around a map, and making notes. Both looked up when he approached through the door. "About time!" Dobby exclaimed, "Do you have any idea how long I'd been waiting to hear back from you?! When Stephane said he'd seen you, I called bullshit! There's no way you'd-!"

"Here," Connor interrupted, walking to the table to shove a glass bottle into Dobby's hands.

"Wait, what?" she halted, "What is this?"

"A bottle of 1756 Château de Goulaine Merlot. Stephane said you would like it."

"Oh, he DID, did he?" Dobby asked, turning to face Chapheau with her hand on her hip.

Stephane merely grinned, "I have no idea what you are talking about Connor! I would never suggest such a thing as that!"

"Which, I did think it strange, since I had thought you did not like such things," Connor elaborated.

"Oh, I surely do not like spending my own money on these fineries, but I do absolutely love it when others buy them for me," Dobby winked. "Fine, fine, you are off the hook. _This_ time." A small box fell from a stack of crates in the corner, and several nesting rats skittered out in panic. "Jesus, Stephane! Would it kill you to do a little cleaning in here once in a while? How is this supposed to be a somewhat believable trading business, when it's falling to bits? Mind you, at least it smells better than I thought it would. What is that? Roses?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Stephane huffed back, "I am a very busy man with very important things to do tonight-"

"-you mean Miss Smith?"

" _Bon Dieu_ , Dobby! Now that Connor is here, can we please get back to the task at hand? Connor, what were you able to learn from the Captain?"

Dobby finally quieted down as Connor circled around the table to join them on the other side. He looked down at the map of Boston. "I followed our good Captain to this location," he pointed at the parchment. "It appears they also have a front in this city. The building was completely empty, save for the hideout in the basement. The Captain is a Templar agent undercover in the Prussian military. Our guess was right. The Prussian King does want to establish trade relations with President Washington, but it appears we are in a precarious position. If successful, then England is crippled with their primary access to resources is cut off. However, if they can stop this treaty from going through…I believe they hope to force us back into trading with England, whatever that may entail."

"I see. So, the Captain is there to ensure the treaty does not go through? Then why has he been establishing so many trading contacts? I have seen him visit Smith's more than once. She said he seemed very interested in her goods," Chapheau said grudgingly.

"Jealous?" Dobby asked.

"An elaborate ruse. The Captain-" Connor began.

"Eh, his name is von Steuben," Stephane cut in.

"Von Steuben?" Connor balked, "Did you see a little grey dog anywhere?"

" _Oui, Monsieur._ The men were taking care of one and playing with it while von Steuben was away. Why?"

So, that is why he seemed so familiar. "Friedrich Wilhelm Von Steuben is the reason the United States has any sort of military discipline or standards. He was the inspector general and Major General of the Continental Army during the Revolution, and had a reputation among men as the God of War. Washington recommended his appointment himself! I even met him once or twice, but he did not speak English, or so I thought," Connor mused.

"Well, apparently he learned, if you were able to understand him today. Perhaps also part of the ruse?" Dobby suggested.

"He is a Templar, so he must have been connected to Charles Lee when they were both in the Continental Army. It also makes sense why they would have sent such a strong master of strategy on missions with Biddle to make sure things went smoothly. He must have done so in secret, since I never heard of von Steuben leaving his post during the War. That now makes two known Templar agents in Washington's inner council. Perhaps the Order left more undercover agents behind than we thought." Connor kicked a nearby crate, sending more rats skittering, "Agh! I was foolish to think they would give up so easily. Washington was disappointed when von Steuben officially resigned from service after the War ended. Apparently he is not on Manhatten Island as everyone believed."

Dobby began pacing in thought, "Well wouldn't the obvious solution be to kill the guy von Steuben was talking to? Von Steuben seems like the kind of person who wears his cover well, and would be willing to go through with the deal and wait for a better day, if it looked like his cover might get blown."

Connor shook his head, "I never got a look at the other man. I only heard his voice, and Captain von Steuben never said his name. The only thing I do know is he is British by his accent."

"Well, alright," Dobby continued her pacing, "so we need more information about the other people involved. Clearly the Templars don't want this deal to go through, so clearly we need to make sure this deal does go through." She shrugged, holding up the glass bottle, "want me to try the standard seduction approach to get inside? I do have this fancy bottle of wine now to help me."

"Eh, well," Connor fidgeted, "I do not think that will work on him."

Stephane chuckled, "Too old?"

Dobby smacked him on the back of the head, which did nothing to stifle his laughter.

"Too…womanly," Connor admitted.

Chortles grew to boisterous laughter, "Oh, I see! Well, well, never send a woman to do a man's job, eh? May I borrow your bottle of wine, then, Miss Dobby?"

"Seriously? Do you mean-?"

"Yes," Connor confirmed, "he prefers the company of men."

"Which is where I come in. Give me one hour with him, and he will have no secrets left," Stephane boasted.

"Stephane, are you sure? You don't have to, and Miss Smith-"

"-need never know…at least not yet. She is a current preference, yes, but in the past…well…I had, how shall we say, a wild and romantic youth," Chapheau smiled, reminiscing. "Do not worry, we Frenchmen speak the language of love, and the European military. All military leaders are required to learn it, so even if he pretends not to know English, there is still French. And fine French wine. Trust me on this."

"Very well," Connor acquiesced, "Let me know what you can find. But before you go, Dobby, please tell us what news you have from New York."

Dobby looked up from her thoughtful pacing, "Honestly, I thought you'd never ask! But first, did either of you bring flowers?"

Confused, both men looked at each other, and shook their heads. "Did you…want flowers with your wine?"

"Pfft! No, I just needed to make sure. Seriously, no one smells roses in here?" Before either man could reply, Dobby suddenly lunged behind the stack of crates in the corner. There was a shout, and a wooden box split open as it crashed to the ground, spilling sacks of corn meal. "Get out here you little rat!" Dobby growled. "OW! Stupid bitch! I was trying not to hurt you, but have it your way!"

Connor saw Dobby's fist pull back briefly, before it disappeared behind the crate again with a solid 'thud.' Just as quickly, she pulled her hand back and stepped away from the crate, dragging out a small figure across the floor by the hair. Struggling, Jade got to her feet and tried to free herself one-handedly from Dobby's hold, while her right arm was bound uselessly in a cloth sling at her side. Connor didn't want to think about where Jade had gotten the pretty, green, floral-printed cloth, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he was now missing part of a window curtain from the Davenport mansion.

Grunting in frustration, Dobby quickly pinned Jade's left wrist behind her, and kicked at the back of her knees, forcing her to a hard kneel on the wooden floor. The rough handling during the scuffle parted the overlapping collars of Jade's robes, revealing the extent of the bruising that had resulted from ricocheting through the rapids, and her subsequent shoulder dislocation yesterday.

As well as the red Templar cross that hung from a long chain around her neck.


	9. Chapter 9 - Whining and Dining

Chapter 9 – Whining and Dining

Without even thinking, Connor immediately stormed across the room, grabbing Jade by the throat and roughly slamming her up against the wall. His voiced seethed, "You will tell me what you are do-"

Braced against the wall, Jade quickly swung both legs up and kicked Connor squarely in the chest, interrupting him. He went reeling back as she dropped to the floor, quickly scrambling to try to escape. Dobby, briefly knocked back by Connor's charge, rushed forward and tackled Jade. What ensued was a brief, but messy struggle for control. As Connor clumsily got to his feet, Stephane calmly stepped forward. Taking a moment to aim, he very methodically thumped Jade squarely on the head with the round base of the wine bottle. "Augh!" she cried out.

Her good hand instinctively flew up to shield against another attack – which Stephane immediately grabbed. Frantic, Jade struggled to free herself from his grip, while simultaneously trying to wriggle free from Dobby who was now wrapped securely around her back. "Damn! This girl's stronger than she looks!" Dobby huffed, trying to hold her right arm against Jade's throat in a choke hold.

Stephane simply thumped Jade on the head with the wine bottle again.

"Augh!"

"What on earth are you doing?" Dobby demanded.

"Helping!" the Frenchman responded, thumping Jade once more for good measure.

"Augh!"

"Would you stop that and do some real help here?!"

"I think you have things under control."

Connor stood still, detached from the scene mere feet from him. A flurry of questions had frozen him in panic the moment he saw the red cross around Jade's neck. His heart pounded in his chest as his mind raced. How had she gotten in undetected? How much had she overheard? Was their mission compromised? How could he have led a Templar straight to his home? Was everyone there now in danger? Were they still alive?

How many more people would he lose?

"AAAH!" Dobby's screams snapped Connor out of his momentary paralysis. "For God's sake, Stephane, do something else! She's gonna take a chunk outta my arm!"

"You are the one who nearly dropped this bottle! I am doing what I can, but I am not about to waste this fine vintage over some ruffian's head!"

Before Stephane could deliver another thump, Connor stepped forward, and very firmly grabbed Jade's bound shoulder. She immediately howled in agony and frustration, all pretext of control gone. "Jade. You will cease moving and shouting, or I will break your shoulder." He tightened his grip to emphasize his point, silently hoping he would not have to make good on his threat. It was one thing to kill a person in battle, but it was another to torture deliberately. He had never developed the taste or need for it that Charles Lee or his father had.

Wincing and gritting her teeth, Jade immediately stilled. Connor maintained his grip, never taking his eyes from hers. All of them stayed that way for several tense moments, restraining Jade in a tangle of bodies by the crates. Outside the moon could be seen high in the sky through an open window. So, that's where Jade had come in.

Connor spoke first, "You finding me outside the tavern, and following me back to Davenport – I see now that was no accident, or mere curiosity." Jade gasped for breath, blinking quickly. "I do not wish to kill you, but will do so if I must. Tell me what the Templars are planning, and the name of the British man who works with von Steuben!"

"I do not-" Jade wheezed against Dobby's strangle hold. "I cannot-" she struggled for air, managing only to choke out a cough as Dobby tightened her grip.

"Dobby, let her breathe," he ordered, "But do not let go."

Dobby relaxed enough to let Jade draw in several deep breaths, while Stephane stood ready with the wine bottle, just in case. "I do not know who or what you are talking about," Jade gasped in reply.

Connor's eyes narrowed, as his voice grew dangerously quiet. "Do not lie. Tell us what the Templars are planning, and we will let you live."

"We will?" whispered Dobby. Stephane shrugged.

Jade's tone grew insistent, "I do not know! What are you talking about? What are Templars?"

Furious, Connor reached forward and ripped the necklace from the girl's neck, and held it before her face. "The people who wear this symbol, they are Templars. What do they want?"

Despite Connor's grasp on her shoulder, Jade immediately panicked and began struggling again, "No, no, NO! Give that back! You give that back right now!" Wrenching her hand free from Stephane's, she frantically lunged forward to reclaim the pendant, only to have Dobby double-down on her choke hold and cut off her breath again.

Connor pulled the cross back out of her reach, "Why? What does it mean to you?"

"It was," she gasped, "my father's." Tears began to well in her eyes. "Please. _Please give it back."_

"Your father was a Templar? Did he send you on a mission for von Steuben?" Even as the words left Connor's mouth, he was unsure of his questions. While there were many foreigners who came through the colonies for trade, she did not look like any he had previously encountered. The Templars may have reached out to their branches in other countries for help, but it seemed far more likely that they would use contacts like von Steuben who already had networks related to the Colonies. Where did Jade fit in?

"Why do you continue to say words that have no meaning to me? I do not know what you are talking about. The pendant belonged to my father. He did not send me anywhere because he _died_ many years ago!"

"Then why were you following me?"

"I was following you, because of this," Jade quickly moved her freed hand toward her robes. Pendant still dangling from his glove, Connor extended his hidden blade, and held it to her throat. Jade froze. Ever so slowly, she dipped her thumb behind one collar, hooking it behind a previously hidden red string that was also tied around her neck. Inch by inch, she pulled on the string until another pendant, this time of pale green stone, was lifted from the layers of cloth.

The green stone was a small flat oval, overlaid in silver with the Assassin insignia.

"Ooh, boy! This is getting good!" Stephane squealed with glee.

"Shut it, Stephane!" Dobby barked.

Achilles had once tried to school Connor in classic literature, starting with _Dante's Inferno_. At the time, the book had seemed useless, but now he had to wonder if it might have been helpful in this situation. What fresh, new level of hell was this? The ninth level? So many questions burned through his mind, but all he could manage was, "You will explain yourself."

"I see I have your attention. Will you first let me go? I want to speak to you as a person, not a tied animal," Jade asked.

From behind, Dobby looked at Connor and shook her head slowly. He sighed, motioning for Dobby to release her grip, "Do not run. We will not be as gentle if we must capture you again." Incredulous, the older woman threw up her hands in disbelief, unhappily releasing her captive. Connor, in turn, withdrew the blade from Jade's neck, and released her shoulder, leaning back.

Jade rubbed her neck, "If that was gentle, no wonder your horse always runs from you." Sitting up, she held out her hand, "My cross."

Connor returned it and the chain to her open palm, waiting for her to continue.

A look of relief passed over the girl's face, before it was quickly hidden behind an emotionless mask. "As I said, _this_ ," holding up the red cross, "belonged to my father, before his death," Jade explained. "However, _this_ ," she continued, now holding up the green stone, "belonged to my mother, before her death. I carry them with me to remember." She paused briefly, absentmindedly running her thumb over the Assassin insignia. "I did not know what they mean – I still do not. To me, they only have meaning because…my family is gone. My mother's pendant has caused me great trouble in the past. Some who saw it, eh, how can I say? Their reaction to my mother's necklace was the same as your reaction to my father's. It sometimes made my travels difficult, so I learned to hide them as best I could. Many times, I even thought about throwing them into the ocean, but I could never do it. I already have so little with me to remember them. However, when I saw you carry the same symbol. There," she pointed to the crest at Connor's belt, "I…I had to know. You do not understand what that could mean to me. I have traveled so far from home, and through so many lands. No one else I have seen has ever carried this symbol. Now, in the New World, a strange man does. So, I followed you. I-" Jade stopped, and bit her lip, chewing over her next words. "Did you know my mother?"

A Templar and an Assassin? He had heard tales of similar forbidden pairings, but had never thought they could happen in real life. It seemed too much a dangerous, unrealistic fantasy, just like that other ridiculous tale he had read, _Romeo and Juliet._ "I-…" Connor was stunned, and not for the first time, at a loss for words. "I do not know...What was her name?"

"Li! Li Minghua!" Jade stammered, "Her name was Li Minghua. Or maybe here you would say Minghua Li. She was from Guangzhou. I mean, Canton. In China. Do you know this name? Did you ever travel there? Why do you carry her symbol? What does it mean?"

So many questions. Where to begin? There was so much to do, so much at stake, and so little time in which to do it. Of course one more complication would appear at this very moment. It was like clockwork how the universe worked sometimes. Grunting in frustration, Connor stood up to pace, rubbing his temples, "Dobby, how did you know she was even here?" he stalled.

She laughed, "Ha! Only you boys wouldn't be able to smell soap and perfume over your own stenches. At least this scrawny ragamuffin bathed recently. When was the last time you two were even in the same room with a bar of soap?"

The two men looked at each other. Stephane shrugged and curiously sniffed under his armpits. Meanwhile Connor resented that remark, "I bathe quite frequently, and am sure I smell much better than the intimate company you tend to keep."

"Uh huh," Dobby drawled, "When did you last wash your robes?"

Hm. Well, he had been held up in the woods for nearly a week. And, he had originally worn his robes to Boston because it attracted less attention than his tribal attire. And before that…ok, so maybe he couldn't remember the last time he had properly done the washing…Connor scowled.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dobby confirmed.

Jade snickered from the floor.

Stephane whistled and turned to leave, "Well, everyone! This has certainly been an exciting night! But, it seems that business is turning to other topics, so if you will excuse me, I have a Captain to seduce before the night is out."

"If you don't kill him with your oncoming odor, first," Dobby called after him.

"Ha ha. Very funny," he called back, waving the wine bottle in a gesture goodbye.

"Hey, that's mine!" Dobby complained.

"Necessary for the cause. Your noble sacrifice will be noted and honored. Thank you, Mademoiselle Carter!" Stephane turned back to bow, right before shutting the door behind himself.

Dobby immediately turned to Connor, and pointed her finger, "I want another bottle of wine."

"Yes, yes, very well, but in the meantime, I would like your report now," Connor replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jade began to protest, "But my mother-"

"-Is a topic that I will discuss with you. At length. _After_ I have concluded discussing the plans at hand. Stephane is right, the night is passing quickly, and I believe your…discussion will not be ended quickly." He frowned, "You have put me in a very precarious position. Both my home and headquarters are now revealed to you, but now, more than ever, I do not know if I can trust you. I do not know if I have the answers you seek, and even when injured you appear to be quite…troublesome."

"Bitch," Dobby mumbled, rubbing a few bleeding bite marks on her arm.

Turning to his compatriot, Connor begged, "Peace, Dobby. Tell me, what news?"

Rolling her eyes, the older woman responded, "Very similar to Stephane's observations: there has been increased Prussian naval presence around the city, most notably around places of business, markets, stores, and the like. However, what's notably different from here is the increase in English 'privateers' around the city, as well. Now, I know my city, and I damn well know my district. These fellows claim to have been here since before the War, and that they fought on our side for Independence, but I certainly don't know them. It's hard to explain, but you'd understand if I showed them to you. There's just something…off about them, as though they're just a little too clean cut to be running the jobs they currently are in New York."

"And you suspect them to be Templars?" Connor inquired.

"I _know_ them to be liars, and their appearance is just a bit too coincidental with the arrival of the Prussians," Dobby countered.

Nodding, Connor responded, "Then perhaps the Englishman I heard with von Steuben earlier is behind this new appearance. If we can track him down…"

"We may be able to stop them from derailing the trade agreement," Dobby finished. She smiled, "Looks like I get to take you back to my place after all, sweetheart!"

Repressing a groan, Connor replied, "It appears so, but you will have an added guest, as well." He turned back to Jade, "Until I know more, I cannot let you out of my sight. Although, it appears you were never planning on staying far from me, in the first place. It is about a day's journey to New York, so for now, we rest. At first light, we leave. Dobby, do you have a place to stay?"

"Well, I was planning on staying at Stephane's place, but now…" her voice trailed off.

Right. Things might get a bit crowded there tonight. "In that case, you can stay here and help me watch Jade. We will sleep in shifts."

"Aagh!" Dobby complained, "After taking a day to ride here, I wanted to get some sleep tonight, not babysit!"

"My pack is in the corner. You can sleep first, if you like," he glanced over at Jade, still sitting against the wall. "I feel I have some unfinished business to attend to before the night is done."

Huffing, Dobby sulked to the corner, pulling a bedroll from the supplies, "Fine! But you two kids better behave. If I wake up and one of you is dead, I am not cleaning up the mess!" She flopped indignantly to the ground, and promptly fell asleep.

Reliable and hardworking as she was, let it never be said Dobby did anything voluntarily. While Connor often appreciated her counter perspectives during strategic meetings, today's dialog had placed even greater strain on him. Everyone except Stephane was exhausted from travelling so much recently. It was somewhat of a relief once the sound of measured, heavy breathing could be heard from the bedroll. One less voice to deal with.

But still another left. Connor turned to examine Jade once more, leaning against the wall. She was fumbling awkwardly with the chain, holding the Templar cross in one hand. He realized that in his anger earlier, he had snapped it from her neck. The broken chain now hung from her fingers, as she tried to hold the ends up in the dim light, assessing the extent of the damage. Shaggy hair fell forward to obscure her face, yet he could still hear soft sniffling escape her. Such a strange creature, this girl was. Yesterday she nearly drowned without a peep, but now, for the first time, she appeared genuinely in pain. Her stifled crying tugged at something inside of him, making him feel-…

Dammit! In front of him was possibly the biggest security threat the Brotherhood had ever encountered, who knew their current plan and base of operations, with possible ties to the Templars, _and she was making him feel guilty for hurting her feelings._

Hopeless. He was absolutely hopeless.

Kicking himself internally, Connor moved to sit next to Jade against the wall. Immediately, she dropped her hand, and turned her face away from him.

"Am I so ugly you cannot bear to look upon me?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Head still down, Jade let out a chuckle despite herself, wiping her face before turning back.

"I am sorry," he apologized, "for seeming to hurt you more today than yesterday."

Scowling at Connor, Jade gingerly adjusted her injured side, "I am _never_ cooking for you again."

"Is that my curtain wrapped around your arm?" he asked.

"Never again!"

"That is a shame. Your rope soup was quite good. Possibly some of the best _American_ food I have had. And I should know. I am a native," Connor joked.

The scowl twitched and threatened to slip into a smile, but Jade held firm. "That was nothing," she boasted, "If I had a _proper_ kitchen, you would have dined like a king. The supplies were so bare!"

"Perhaps if you had not eaten them all last night, there might have been more available for this morning."

A smile slipped through at last, "It is not my fault you are unprepared for guests. First you cripple me, then you have no proper food available, so I must cook. Now I am made to sleep on the ground. You are a terrible host."

It was Connor's turn to laugh out loud. Grumbling and rustling emanated from the corner, reminding the two to keep their voices down. Now that Jade had stopped crying, Connor reached over and gently took hold of the hand that held the broken chain. He felt her stiffen instinctively, but she did not pull away from his grasp. The skin of her hand felt rough, covered with a multitude of scars both big and small. Turning her hand over revealed layers upon layers of thick calluses covering her palms, some peeling – a result of her constant climbing, no doubt. "May I?" he inquired.

When she did not answer, Connor very slowly slid his hand away, taking the chain and Templar cross with it. He held them up in the dying lantern light. It was a surprisingly elegant piece. The chain was of very high quality silver and very thin, while the pendant had no visible imperfections in its craftsmanship. If only the symbol itself didn't carry so many terrible memories for him, he might have admired the beauty of its simplicity. Jade studied his expression anxiously. Reaching into his pocket with his other hand, he retrieved an item he hadn't had the heart to touch since the day he acquired it. Holding it up next to the necklace, Connor compared Haytham's Templar ring to the pendant. Next to such a delicate masterpiece, the ring looked like a child's crude attempt at jewelry making. The construction was bulky, a thick, almost square band made to endure constant wear, with a roughly etched cross set within a small raised circle and colored red. Dents, scrapes and pits marred the entire surface, evidence of his father's many years as a successfully active spy and fighter. Turning, he handed his father's insignia to Jade. As he pressed the circle into her hand, her eyes widened in shock, and her head jerked up to meet Connor's gaze. Astonishment was clear on her face, along with something else.

Vulnerability.

"So," Connor began, "it appears we have much to talk about…"


End file.
